


Another Start to the Age of Magic

by SofiaDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Canon Era, Canon Relationships, Canon Series used as warning visions, Druids actively seek out Emrys, Druids are less passive in general, Episode Tag style, Episode: s01e04 The Poisoned Chalice, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Historical accuracy increased slightly, I hurt them to make them better, M/M, Magic Revealed, Magic can't heal everything instantly, Major Illness, Merlin fixes Arthur's ignorance, Oblivious Arthur, POV Merlin, Royalty, Season/Series 01, Slow Build, Some relationships only in passing, Trigger Warning: Grooming (Edwin Muirden), then Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-04-04 07:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 94,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofiaDragon/pseuds/SofiaDragon
Summary: Canon Backstory slightly adjusted.The Druids recognized Merlin as the prophesized Emrys when he was still a very small child, and have serious expectations for the boy. Merlin's father comes back to Ealdor after they track him down and tell him about his son's destiny. Balinor tries his best to give his son the Lord's upbringing and education that he had as a boy, feeling that Merlin deserves it even if the Druids have the wrong kid. It turns out Balinor was right to fear the attention he would bring to Ealdor. When he goes to Camelot, Merlin fully expects to become an apprentice physician and does not pretend to be a simpleton or instantly accept people thinking that he is one because of this change in his upbringing. Arthur isn't blind, but he doesn't pay much attention to Merlin's quirks until King Bayard's visit.





	1. A Hard Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly more historically accurate in that: Characters are not immune to blunt force trauma, nor do people heal to perfect health overnight - sometimes even magic can't fix things instantly. One King revising history would alter people’s opinions dramatically over 20 years in one kingdom, but not much outside his domain. Uther killed *all* the dragons in less than one year? Does mainland Europe not exist? I think not, on both counts. Merlin's 'special' magic is never really explained in the show, or how people don't notice it, and that's fine for TV but doesn't work as well in text form. Same goes for the vague way time lapses are handled in the show - I spread Season 1over more than a year. Academic skills like reading were incredibly rare for a peasant and the fact that farm-boy Merlin can read should have been a big deal. I know a few things about arms and armor, and give Merlin's lucky jacket a badass and completely rational upgrade.

When Merlin was very small, some Druids came to the village. The migratory people passed through from time to time, usually skirting the edge of the village and not walking through it. This time was different. They stayed for a week or so, exchanging work and various supplies for shelter. One of them was badly injured and their tents were a wreck. He didn’t remember it well. Mama tried very hard to keep them away from him, but he was curious and she was not at all successful. Merlin did remember her shouting a lot when they were about to leave about how she would not ever give him away, and he’d had nightmares on and off for several years where he was kidnapped as she screamed at the sky.

Four months after they left a winter storm had Ealdor tightly in its grip. The roof of the grain supply collapsed under the thick snow, and even though the clouds had briefly parted one day in the middle it didn’t properly stop storming for over a week. Everyone had to dig their way out of the deep snow to open their doors. Spring was late in coming and everyone was hungry. Two smaller children died. Merlin wandered off into the forest, half-remembered words floating through his head. He came back shivering in his thin straw-stuffed jacket with a fluffy rabbit nestled contentedly in his arms. He cried at what his mother did to it, but the hole in his heart filled the hole in his stomach. It was a fair trade. He brought five more rabbits home that week, and for once the other villagers seemed happy to have him around.

That spring a man came to the village. Merlin watched him with shrewd eyes as he fell to his knees and begged Mama for forgiveness. Merlin thought he must be soft in the head to kneel down to Mama like she was a fancy lady, even if Mama was the best person ever. The man said the Druids had found him and told him about Merlin. He said that if she told him, he would not have left after their hand-fasting ended. It was all rather confusing to his little ears, a bunch of silly adult things that weren’t important. The important thing was that later that day when Blane loudly called Merlin a bastard, the man came out of the house and stopped the other boys from throwing sticks and rocks at Merlin. When Merlin found out the man would be staying in the house with him and Mama, he spent several moments thinking it over before asking if the man would always stop the other boys from throwing sticks at Merlin. He said he hoped to do a bit better than just that, and Merlin decided that was good enough.

The man had a sword. Merlin thought that was wonderful and scary, and other people in the village agreed. He grumbled about something called ‘patrols’ and explained very patiently when Merlin asked that there were supposed to be knights or soldiers their village could call when the bad men came. Merlin explained just as patiently that he could be so quiet while he hid that he didn’t need a sword to stay safe. The next time someone scary came to their village the man went out to meet him. He wouldn’t tell Merlin what he did, but no one talked about rationing food like they normally did after the bad men came.

Merlin didn’t like how much more he had to do every day. The man wanted Merlin to be stronger and smarter and better at everything all at once. The first few days he spent with the man he cried a lot. After a while, he hid in the chicken coop so the man would leave him alone. Mama tried to help him, but then the man said some things about learning to be as strong as him and Merlin decided quite abruptly that he absolutely loved spending all day with the man, at least most of the time.

The man had been there a month when he told Merlin that he didn’t have to call him Father if he really didn’t want to, but he couldn’t keep calling him ‘that man’ either. Merlin told him bastards didn’t have fathers, they were made of bad clay. The man looked at Merlin as if he was being horribly stupid, then started blinking a lot and stammering. Merlin learned a lot about stuff he didn’t want to think too hard about right away that afternoon, and in the end decided that girls were a lot weirder than he originally thought they were. He didn’t doubt what the man said, but he still felt compelled to ask Mama exactly what kind of seed the man put in her. Merlin was disappointed he didn’t start out as an acorn.

It was only a few days later that Merlin fell off a stool toward the stove while helping Mama with dinner. The stool moved by itself to stay under him and stopped him falling onto the hot stove, though he still slipped off it onto the floor. Mama had told him never to let anyone see him do magic, and he looked nervously between her and the man. The man seemed rather happy and surprised, and Mama gave him a told-you-so look.

The next day, instead of spending the morning stacking up very heavy pieces of wood while listening to the man’s stories or sitting inside learning more letters, Merlin went deep into the woods with the man. The man talked to a tree for a moment in a weird language and it fell over as if he’d hit it with an ax. He asked Merlin to help, and Merlin made sure he cut the wood into small enough pieces that he didn’t have to huff and puff under them. Smaller pieces meant more trips, and there was a lot of running back to the clearing with the cut-up tree. The man had the same secret he did. When Mama asked what Merlin learned that day, he told her Father taught him how to cut down trees without getting mushed under them like a bug. Everyone was very happy that night.

The house was small, the smallest in the village and out on the edge beyond the partial wall that kept most of the other houses safe at night, but Merlin had never thought much about it. Father thought about it a lot, grumbling about how Mama’s house used to be a better one. He went away for a week and came back with some metal stuff. Merlin helped him dig a big hole in the woods with his magic. They pulled up clay from the ground under the dirt. He got mud all the way from his toes up to his ears. It was awesome. They found two trees the same size around and very very carefully cut them up into long pieces that didn’t fit in the firewood pile. The day after the Midsummer celebration, one wall of the house was taken down one brick at a time, the bricks laid out in the earth as if the wall fell outward. The stove was moved to the other side of the house, a blanket hung to replace the wall, and they had even less space to sleep in.

The next few weeks Merlin carefully layered clay and straw in the shapes Father helped him start on the bricks next to their house while the other boys were playing with sticks. They weren’t allowed to play with the mud and got in trouble with their mamas when they tried to, which only made Merlin’s job more fun. Then Father put some of the metal pieces in and used fire _(blue magic fire!)_ to bake it all together. They mixed the clay with sand and straw, then packed it one blob at a time to make walls. The heat of summer helped it harden. The odd trench in the floor had a couple metal pieces added and was covered over with bricks that they smoothed over with more of the muddy clay. Father called the clay mix wychert and said there were whole villages made this way in the south and west, and castle walls were covered in it sometimes to make the stones pretty. He made Merlin learn to write it in two languages.

When Mama caught Merlin making shapes in the clay, Father said it was a good idea if they did it right. As the walls slowly rose up, he helped surround the window with a sunburst on the outside and make places for wooden shelves in the corners. Merlin snuck a wobbly horse onto one wall and Father used his knife to make it look real. The new walls were much thicker than the rotting slats, drafty bricks, and crumbling mortar the rest of their home was made of. Merlin helped with the roof by making the pieces float while Mama and Father put it together. When they painted the whole thing with oil it glowed golden in the sunlight.

On one side the new part of the house had a chimney, but the firebox Father built was on the other side of the house. It had taken all summer to build since they still had to do all their other chores and couldn’t play with the mud all day. When Father showed that the fire went under the clay through the slanted trench they made under the floor, and how hot it got even with a little fire, the other villagers were impressed. Merlin saw that even though Father had a sword and worked hard, that didn’t make anyone like their family an more than they ever had. The other villagers were only friendly when Mama or Father were doing clever things. Merlin decided he would have to learn to be clever too if he wanted people to like him.

The next year, the old part of the house was taken down and made into a foundation. The extra bricks and wood were used to strengthen the doorways and corners. Merlin packed the clay when he wasn’t working in the field, foraging berries and roots, chasing the chickens, or learning even more letters. Mama had some books, but Father had a lot more and they didn’t all use the same letters. He wanted Merlin to read them all, and the stories he told Merlin whenever they were working were also lessons he needed to remember. Father insisted that magic skill came from a sharp mind, and like any other tool a mind needed to be kept sharp or it would rust away. Merlin didn’t have to do it all right away, only eventually, though Father still got excited and impatient about teaching Merlin things. No other boy in the village had so many lessons. Merlin tried his best, and sometimes when it was too much Father took Merlin into the woods and they played games with their magic.

Life was good. Merlin helped a couple other families patch up parts of their homes, earning some goodwill for himself from the older villagers. If some of the digging, mixing, sculpting, and drying was done with magic, then the dirty job was lonely enough that no one saw. Mama kept the town’s records. Father spent much of his spare time teaching Merlin and making everything they did into some form of lesson, but he also taught older boys a bit about fighting and hunting. They weren’t permitted the King’s deer and most of them were too scared of boars. Father did not condone needlessly breaking the law, so he showed them how to trap small game and vermin. The raiders were more reasonable, but constant as ever.

After a sorceress came to the town and tried to use it as a base to send a blight over the border into Camelot, Father started teaching Merlin how to handle a sword. Father left on irregular trips after the first year he was with them, but never for more than a month. He taught Merlin about bringing goods to market in cities with lectures, but never took him along. People talked about Father like he was a great big bird: building a home of straw and mud, not staying in place more than a season, fierce when angered yet quick to song when happy, and much too clever to trust.

On a cloudy day in the autumn before Merlin’s thirteenth winter, a group of five people came to Ealdor. They came right up to their house while Father was reviewing a difficult book with Merlin. Father shoved Merlin out the back window, telling him to stay quiet and out of sight. There was a lot of shouting. The sun moved in the sky, and Merlin alternated between trying to understand and not wanting to listen. They wanted Father to kill someone, and they called him by a strange name. Merlin edged around the house to see as Father finally threw them out. One of them cast magic that left a dark scar on the ground, but Father’s magic and sword were faster. There was suddenly a lot of blood on the wall. Another one of them got behind Father as he was fighting off the third and Merlin panicked, pushing forward with his magic and knocking the whole group flat. Father looked around in shock for a moment before he plunged his sword into each one. Merlin tried not to notice that none of them bled from those wounds. Mother sat hugged tightly between Merlin and Father for a long time as she cried that night, though every once in a while they shuffled about and it was Merlin in the middle. Father left the next day. Merlin would never forget the things he’d been told that night.

The following Beltaine, Merlin had his first kiss. Susan had a plain face and a horrible lisp, but it was still one of the best things that had ever happened to Merlin. Flowers started blooming out of season whenever he sat still in one place for more than an hour. The villagers spoke of ill omens and Mother begged him to get it under control.

After a year, it seemed like the other boys remembered that Merlin hadn’t always had a Father. They called him bastard again, and he spent a lot more time alone or in the woods or with Will. Sometimes it made him angry and his magic would do something unexpected about it, but at least Will was a good enough friend not to mind that Merlin was so strange. He tried to meditate as he’d been taught, but remembering his lessons meant remembering his father and sometimes that made it worse.

Mother wasn’t as welcome as she had been among the other women, and started to do the laundry further down the river. She was still the only adult who knew her numbers well enough to deal with the tax man. Father had always stood back and let her do it, even when the other men teased him for letting his wife show him up. Merlin also thought it was odd since Father knew his numbers just as well. Merlin convinced himself this wasn’t part of an old plan his clever parents came up with.

Merlin didn’t question it when Mother got an ‘unexpected’ letter from her uncle Gaius asking if Merlin would be suited for work as his assistant. Father had told him a lot about Camelot and it’s mad king, and he would have to be much more careful than he was in Ealdor. It was possible that if he left the others wouldn’t treat Mother so badly. If he found good work, or if he managed to learn proper physician’s work, then it wouldn’t matter if things went back to how they were before Father came. If the other villagers shunned Mother and always put her at the back of the line for winter rations, then the money he could send her would compensate. He had just had a huge growth spurt the previous summer that stretched him up to the height of a man. He’d survived his fifteenth winter and thought he could pass for older if he had to. That was old enough for good-paying work, it would have to be.


	2. Arriving in Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode tag to The Dragon's Call.

Things didn’t always go according to plan and adaptation was a virtue. A righteous man could admit when he was wrong and correct his mistakes. Information could be as dangerous as any poison and as valuable as the greatest treasure. These were just a few of the lessons Merlin’s Father had lovingly bestowed upon him. Merlin had tried to remember them, but the vegetables bouncing off his head as he stood in the stocks made it plain that he hadn’t absorbed as much of his Father’s wisdom as he thought he had. It wasn’t that he regretted saying what he did to the arrogant blond bully, but the aftermath wasn’t ideal and he might not have done it if he’d known it was Prince Arthur he was challenging. Meeting Gwen was nice, and being the object of children’s amusement without any real malice behind their taunts was at least an improvement over the taunts he heard in Ealdor.

Gaius was… something. It had only been a week, so he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the old man who took him in. Merlin never had proper grandparents, but maybe this was what it was like. He was wise and worried in a way Father hadn’t been: the accumulation of time rather than just the absorption of books. Merlin’s Father was conspicuously absent from the topics of conversation, and with Gaius being both cautious about secrets and his Mother’s step-Uncle Merlin could respect the implied taboo. Merlin could get used to not talking about his Father much, he supposed, since that also meant less risk of talking about things he shouldn’t. Being told to _never_ use magic, though, even in private… magic was life. He’d never not known how to do it, and even though he knew that was odd, it was as much a part of him as his arms and legs. Even meeting his Father hadn’t really explained it, as the other man’s magic had been hard-won over years of practice before he inherited the rest of it when he came of age, and he could never do it silently. According to all the books Father had collected, all the knowledge he’d gathered on his trips, and everything the man knew about how magic worked, no one could stop time. Slow it, maybe, with great concentration and for a single object. Yet Merlin could do it easily, to the whole of the world or just one thing if he wanted, and since he was too small to remember. The whispers of his village were never far from his mind, even here in Camelot. Fey child. Changeling. Elf. Imp. Unnatural. Speaking of whispers, he was quite worried he had cracked under the stress already - the deep voice calling his name from below was no help to his frazzled nerves.

The dragon was a shock. Merlin wondered if Gaius knew about him since he’d plainly said that Merlin would have to ask someone more knowledgeable in order to get his answers after he’d complained about not having a purpose. On the one hand, it did give him some answers. On the other hand, Arthur was an idiot and if he was Merlin’s destiny Merlin might as well opt out. The conflicted ties of honor he’d inherited were a mess he’d really rather not get tangled in. His Father’s oath that he and his issue would serve Camelot was decidedly not something he wanted to be reminded of in any way after the execution he’d seen when he arrived in the city.

Gaius didn’t believe him when he tried to explain that he moved stuff in his sleep when he slept poorly. The room had been clean when he’d first gotten into bed, or at least reasonably tidy. He’d try again when Gaius was less irritated with him, and maybe when he was more in control of himself. The whole thing tended to snowball, as moving things in his sleep wasn’t restful and the poor sleep made him move more things. He knew it would be hard, knew that being away from home the first time was a trial many commoners never gathered the courage to undertake. He had not expected to be this miserable.

Serving the nobles at their feast would earn him his first few coins. It wasn’t much, but he was grateful Gaius got him proper work so quickly. He could do simple things like this when the Steward needed extra hands while he learned enough from Gaius to claim his trade. His second chat with Gwen was painfully awkward - worse than the time May told him she felt safe walking by the river with him since he liked being kissed by Will. He had never even considered that as an option until she pointed it out, but then after he had he hadn’t been able to look Will in the face for a week.

Merlin recognized the magic in the words as soon as Lady Helen’s song began, and covered his ears. He had only seen magic used this way once in person before, searing in anger and with so much hate in it. There was a brief moment of panic as he watched its creeping horror with plugged ears. This was everything his Father warned him about, everything their family refused to become. He didn’t feel any remorse for dropping the chandelier. Pulling the royal prat out of the way of the throwing knife wasn’t something he consciously thought about until after it was done. It didn’t have anything to do with who was being targeted: there was dark magic and evil at work that could not be allowed to succeed. It was just the right thing to do. Having Uther’s attention was terrifying, even though the man was pleased with him. He didn’t know how he managed not to panic.

Being made the Prince’s manservant was irritating, but Merlin wasn’t truly angry about it at first. It was an honor and a high place for a commoner, even if the company was going to be shit. The steward told him he could expect to be busy doing the job for most of each day with only a few hours to himself here and there as the Prince saw fit, meaning he would have little time to learn directly from Gaius, but he’d make it work somehow. No, it was after Merlin was told how little a Prince’s manservant was paid in coin for all that work that he found a quiet place to shove his hands at a bucket of water and turn it to steam, ranting as loudly as he dared to whatever gods happened to care about how twisted a man’s mind would have to be to see this post as any kind of reward considering he’d made half as much for that one night as extra help as he would in a month of this _reward_. The only upside was a complete lack of need to pay for food and a few other bare essentials of life, so nearly all of the pitifully few coins he did make could be saved. The cost of sending anything via a trustworthy courier made more than one letter home a year nearly impossible. He’d have to be extra careful with his clothes and boots, or he wouldn’t be able to manage even that.

Adapt, adapt… there has to be a place for him somewhere. Everyone has a place in the world unless their own actions forfeit it. There is always a right path. The wrong one was often tempting, but would never have a good end. With luck, Arthur would tire of him before he broke and he could get another position with fewer drawbacks based on that trial by fire. The steward said it was a regular rotation, and if he made it through six months of this he could have practically any other open post in the palace. He also warned that the Prince’s last manservant was the boy he’d seen used as a moving target, and Bran had pulled a runner as soon as he heard the King declare Merlin his replacement without actually waiting to be dismissed or collecting his final wages.

Gaius seemed to think that that saving lives - specifically Arthur’s life - was a proper use of his magic. It wasn’t that far from what Father or the dragon told him. It was his own magic, his singular ability to slow time with a thought, that had done the job after all. He was still unable to move very fast from his point of view while time was stopped, but it was just as well that he hadn’t moved much faster than he normally could. Uther might have rewarded him with a pyre, otherwise. The book Gaius gave him as a reward for his noble action was amazing. His parent’s books were mostly histories, herbal catalogs, mundane academic texts, and bestiaries. They talked about magic and its effects on certain things, dug deep into the theory of it all, but did not contain many actual spells. This spell-book was a treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these 'episode tag' chapters are very short, more like drabbles, but I wanted to give them their own chapter to set them off from the more developed chapters and give anyone who needs a refresher the chance to re-watch or check a wiki. Anything I don't re-write happens exactly as it does in the TV series.


	3. Valiant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur get to know each other a little, and Merlin is able to warn the prince of a threat to his life.

 Merlin had some training with a sword. His blade had been a wooden one his Father made, but it was still sword training. He’d never even seen armor as heavy as what Arthur wore before he came to the Camelot. He thanked the gods he didn’t have to wear the same, but what armor he did have on was still too heavy for him and put him off balance. It didn’t help that his arms and legs were still much longer than he expected them to be. Merlin was deeply glad his Father had not seen him fumbling around so terribly with the blunted metal blade and heavy shield Arthur had forced on him, though he was cautiously proud that he hadn’t given up. Arthur thrashed him, and he didn’t see how he was of more use than a training dummy. He was not entirely certain Arthur’s backhanded praise of Merlin’s endurance had truth behind it at first, but he hadn’t quit immediately afterward and the other staff seemed to think that what he had done was impressive when he fetched the Prince’s dinner that night.

Gwen was a huge help, and the job wasn’t all bad. He still fumbled around like a fool the first day of the tournament and forgot Arthur’s sword, but he did get to watch the tournament from a unique angle. These men knew what they were doing all right, and the fights were amazing to watch. From the first, he was cheering with the crowd. Valliant was a creep, but in mumbling that fact under his breath he’d discovered that Arthur did have a sense of humor buried under the mountain of pretentiousness he carried around. Merlin rewarded himself for a job well done by making time for more reading. He didn’t see why he had to do all the chores by hand if he could save time, get everything done, and still have a full night of sleep.

Arthur clearly hadn’t expected him to have finished all the work, and once he noticed Arthur’s incredulous expression he saw that the list of chores had been deliberately made longer than he should have been able to do, which made him a little nervous. Still, he’d done this once and now he would do it again, properly this time. He got the prince into his armor properly and quickly, stepping back with a little pride at a job well done.

“That was much better; not that it could have got any worse,” Arthur commented when Merlin was done.

“I’m a fast learner,” Merlin answered with pride.

“I hope for your sake that’s true,” Arthur said with thick condescension.

“I’m a peasant that can read and write three languages,” Merlin informed him. “Though the book on tournament etiquette the quartermaster gave me was worse than useless. I only got your armor on yesterday by reversing or ignoring half of everything it said and following the pictures.”

“Lie to me again and I’ll have you put back in the stocks,” Arthur growled.

“What lie?” Merlin asked, surprise written clearly on his face.

“Peasants can’t read,” Arthur condescended.

“I know enough for basic trade in most of the languages of the five kingdoms, and I can read Frankish and Pictish almost as well as the common tongue,” Merlin answered in fluent Frankish, sure that all of the nobility knew the language of the continent. Arthur blinked at him, startled, and then it melted away leaving him vaguely insulted.

“You can read?” Arthur said, also in Frankish.

“Is that so surprising?” Merlin asked back, returning to the common tongue. “I came here to learn the physician’s trade from Gaius. I’d have no chance of becoming his apprentice if I couldn’t read.”

“I thought Gaius took you in as a charity case,” Arthur challenged.

“Gaius _requested_ I come apprentice to him, though I think my Mother appealed to him with more than just my qualifications without telling me. Shake my family tree and you’ll find a load of books, and even if we are not noble we… We tend to get trapped between floors when we live in cities, so we generally avoid them,” Merlin admitted. “Hazard of being well educated and poor at the same time.”

“You are clumsy enough to get stuck in a floor,” Arthur scoffed with a nasty glare. Merlin didn’t want to give the prat the satisfaction, but there was no point in being deliberately antagonistic right now. He did very obviously roll his eyes.

“What I mean is: I came to Camelot freely, because I wanted to, and not because I didn’t have options.”

“To the citadel, you mean,” Arthur corrected as they started to walk.

“To Camelot, from Essetir. I know the difference between…” That must have been the wrong thing to say, as Merlin was suddenly getting a close look at the sword he hadn’t forgotten this time.

“You are one of Cenred’s people?”

“Ah, technically,” Merlin admitted.

“Why are you here? What are you planning?”

“I… I have no loyalty to King Cenred!” Merlin spat, outraged enough to ignore the blade.

“Why should I believe that?”

“He’s a bad king, and never did me or my village any favors,” Merlin said simply. Arthur didn’t look convinced. “Cenred doesn’t care about anything beyond collecting taxes from the outlying villages. The whole countryside is overrun with raiders and gangs, and he doesn’t so much as give lip service to doing anything about it. Almost everyone is terrified of traveling the roads. He doesn’t protect us, so why should we care about him?”

“He doesn’t send any guard patrols to the villages?” Arthur asked carefully.

“No, just a pack of guards for the tax collector,” Merlin assured, appearing relaxed even with the blade in his face. Push come to shove, he could freeze time and bolt. “It’s disgusting, really, but when I was small Mother couldn’t just pick up and leave without having a place to go. It got better for a few years… Honestly, we weren’t the only village that flaunted the laws restricting serfs from the use of weapons. It’s getting worse though, year by year. If coming here isn’t a total disaster, I’ll be able to make a better life for Mother’s silver years. King Uther gave me a job, which happens to be exactly what I need right now.”

“You were trained with a sword?” Arthur scoffed, but he looked more amused and thoughtful than angry. He put the blade away and was walking out, but the question didn’t seem rhetorical.

“The,” Merlin hesitated, “migrant who visited us for a few years taught us some self-defense, but I was only five or six when he came the first time. He…”

“He?” Arthur prompted when Merlin trailed off.

“After a while, a sorcerer and some thugs came and attacked him. He left. He’d started to attract attention and didn’t want to put the whole village in danger,” Merlin said softly. “I was… involved. It… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t distract you with this.”

“It isn’t a distraction. Camelot should be a beacon of honor and a safe haven to all that live here,” Arthur said. It should have sounded a lot more arrogant that it did, but the Prince’s tone and conviction were actually comforting. Merlin’s magic sparkled a bit in his chest in response. They were nearly at the stadium.

“It’s not perfect, but it seems I only have to worry about one prat stabbing me unexpectedly. That is a measurable improvement,” Merlin supposed. Arthur smiled and waved Merlin off.

“Good luck,” Merlin called after him with real feeling.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

The hissing shield was weird. Seeing Knight Valiant feeding it was frightening. Having the theoretical knowledge he’d gained from his Father about the class restrictions when it came to the law be confirmed true by Gaius was frustrating. Seeing Arthur take down a man twice his size was impressive. Having Arthur take him seriously when Merlin showed him a severed snake head felt surprisingly good.

“I want you to swear to me, what your saying is true,” Arthur said solemnly.

“I swear it’s true,” Merlin answered with equal gravity.

“Then I believe you.” Arthur looked back at the monstrous size of the snake’s head. Merlin gave himself a moment to enjoy the feeling of being trusted and the way his magic reacted whenever Arthur wasn’t being a prat, but if the worst of the books Father forced on him was right about something as bewilderingly essential as who could and couldn’t report an attempted murder, he might as well trust the rest.

“You should see it with your own eyes,” Merlin suggested. “The bite, I mean. Gaius is making the antidote, and he has seen them, but his word won’t count for more than a knight’s any more than mine would. If you see the wound yourself, as Prince, then even if Sir Ewan isn’t well enough to speak before the tournament continues you can attest Ewan has marks that could not come from a sword and get a delay for a deeper investigation at the least. Or I could bring some neutral third party to see them, since you have a vested interest both as accuser and in the tournament and Gaius has a vested interest in, well, both of us.” Arthur looked up from the snake head and gave Merlin a probing look.

“You sound like a lawman.”

“I learned Pict from a law book. It was old, from before the last time the Saxons sacked the southern countries, but from the impression Gaius gave me the broad strokes haven’t changed that much,” Merlin shrugged. “Worst language lessons ever, but at least I remember it vividly.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a peasant more learned than half my fellow knights,” Arthur said with a pinched expression.

“You know Gaius,” Merlin prompted.

“He’s the court physician.”

“He’s family.”

“No, he’s…”

“My family, I think I’d have noticed if he was a Pendragon or a De Bois. He was born as common as I am.”

“Right, obviously,” Arthur attempted to play it off. “I thought you said your mother appealed to him?”

“And noblemen are the only people who can get a job because of the blood in their veins?” Merlin asked. It was surprisingly easy to talk to the prince when he wasn’t being an ass, and the way his magic shimmered and sparked in counterpoint to the way Arthur seemed to shine in these moments encouraged him. “Who your parents are matters to everyone. Gaius is my Mother’s Uncle by way of adoption. I… think we’re all that’s left of the family, actually.”

“The sorcerer you spoke of before, did he kill your Father?” Arthur said it like it wasn’t really a question.

“Could I make a bargain with you?” Merlin asked, well aware that this was an unreasonable request for a servant.

“Depends on the bargain,” Arthur said cautiously.

“You never mention that to me again, and in return, I’ll do the same for you,” Merlin gambled.

“You told me about it,” the prince complained.

“No, no, not… I… I don’t… ah, look. I’ll tell you the messy details and then you never bring it up after tonight, fair enough? Mother wasn’t properly married until I was six,” Merlin stammered.

“Oh, ah! I see…” Arthur gave Merlin an appraising look as if seeing him for the first time. “A lot of outlaws, in Essetir?”

“My mother _was_ hand-fasted when she got pregnant. The purge remained ugly in the countryside as people turned on each other and made accusations based on evidence as flimsy as not liking each other’s faces. Particularly at the borders between places that did and didn’t participate the chaos lasted for over a decade after the law was passed. A lot of good men couldn’t keep their promises through no fault of their own,” Merlin corrected. “Clear enough? How about that bargain?”

“As my manservant you are meant to keep my confidence as a matter of course,” Arthur pointed out.

“Not gossiping to people on the street about personal matters is one thing, and I’d hope we were both above that, this is instating a taboo even when it’s just the two of us,” Merlin refused to back down. “Neither of us mentions that the other currently has one parent without a really good reason. I don’t know how you feel about it, but I think about it often enough without being reminded.”

“Fair enough,” Arthur agreed, a slightly distant look in his eyes Merlin knew all too well.

“Good,” Merlin said and held out his hand to shake. “Nothing to do with station or duty, just something between two people with problems.”

“You think I have problems?” Arthur asked, but it was pretty clear from the suspicion on his face that he could think of a few more things he didn’t want to talk about.

“You are alive,” Merlin shrugged. “Only dead men have no problems.” Arthur took the offered hand and shook it once. “So, who do you want as a third party?”

“Sir Leon, he wouldn’t be drunk from the celebrations, isn’t competing, and knows animal bites well enough to identify one for the court,” Arthur answered after a moment. “Here, I’ll write a note so he knows I sent you.”

It was a bit of a dance to get in to see Sir Leon, and not only because Merlin had the wrong hallway the first time. Merlin hadn’t realized servants got territorial of their masters. Sir Leon followed Merlin down to the physician’s room as soon as Merlin told him they needed a witness to evidence of foul play.

“Merlin! What trouble are you in now?” Gaius asked worriedly as the Knight followed Merlin into the room.

“The boy said there was something suspicious about Sir Ewan’s injuries, and that he needed me to bear witness,” Sir Leon announced formally.

“Oh,” Gaius fiddled with the rag in his hand. “I’m flattered at your confidence in me, Merlin, but Sir Ewan is still unconscious. He’s been responding to the antivenin I made, but it will be some time before he recovers.”

“It’s only to see the bite and that he doesn’t have any other dangerous injury, in case Ewan isn’t hale before the tournament is set to begin again,” Merlin rushed to explain, leading the knight into the room. “It doesn’t matter what I saw, and I was the only one low enough to the ground to see it actually happen. If guilt can’t be judged one way or the other, there would have to be a stay for further investigation, right?”

“I don’t know that the King would allow the tournament to be delayed,” Gaius mumbled.

“Does Prince Arthur expect that?” Leon asked, kneeling down next to what must be a good friend of his, given his expression as he looked at Ewan’s fevered face. Merlin babbled while he shifted Sir Ewan’s clothing, so that Leon could honestly attest to the lack of other injuries.

“No, I’m just trying to keep a thin candle from failing in the night. I learned Pict from a law book, I’m not sure how much translates here,” Merlin said. Leon smiled a little at the unintended pun.

“Humor is a light in darkness,” the knight responded with surprising poetry.

“It’s here, on his neck,” Gaius directed gently. The knight frowned at the wound a moment and pat Sir Ewan’s shoulder.

“A snake could have left this, but it must have been a large one. You said you saw this happen?” Leon was all business again.

“I did. When he had Ewan pinned one of the snakes on the shield came alive and bit him. I was a bit wrong-headed after seeing that, and got a bit turned around running my errands. I wound up in the guest room hallway. I cut the head off of a snake after investigating hissing I heard in Sir Valiant’s chambers and gave it to the Prince. When I went into the room, the shield had animated and the three snakes on it reared up to strike at me. I grabbed Knight Valiant’s sword from the shelf by the door and hit one, but I don’t think the image on the shield changed even after the other two slid out after me fully onto the floor. It could still spawn three of them next time it animated,” Merlin stopped abruptly when Gaius’ stood up and surreptitiously hit his elbow against the side of Merlin’s head. The older man gave him a look full of warning. Leon had been looking at Ewan again and didn’t see.

“That is a keen observation, but unfortunately means there is no evidence that the snake didn’t simply crawl out from behind the shield,” Sir Leon sighed. “You sound sober enough, but I must ask, have you had much to drink today?”

“No, never. And I mean not more than one cup in a day since the first time. It’s _very_ obvious when I drink,” Merlin huffed out a shaky laugh at his own expense. Forget moving things during restless sleep, Merlin drunk was an unholy mess.

“Obvious how?” Gaius asked shrewdly.

“I love everyone and everything and I am going to make sure you know it with grand gestures sort of obvious. A bit of a family trait, as I understand it.” Merlin ducked his head in a blush, hoping Gaius caught on to the secondary meaning. “There is no way I could have been drunk enough to hallucinate the snakes without ending up… hugging the nearest person inappropriately in the middle of the Tourney. Most likely the Prince by virtue of having to stand next to him all day, and that is not on.” Sir Leon clapped a hand on Merlin’s bony shoulder. The man swallowed and regained his composure with impressive swiftness.

“You have done well, lad. This fever and the bite mark make it clear Ewan did not fall to honorable combat. If this is true sorcery or just clever trickery I can’t say, but I have no doubt this is a snake bite. I’ll return first thing in the morning, to escort Ewan or in the worst case to observe his condition and testify to it before the King,” Sir Leon spoke calmly, and then there was nothing left for Merlin to do but get some sleep.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Madmen did not always act rationally. The more dangerous madmen also did not always act irrationally. King Uther was a madman with a crown, and that made him the most dangerous madman in the five kingdoms. This was something Merlin learned at his Father’s knee. Now, he got to see it in action. Any sane person would delay the tournament and have the shield properly examined where Valiant wasn’t holding it and clearly able to control the thing, allow the tournament to continue and enforce a mutual handicap of no shields, or even have both knights borrow someone else’s shield. By the gods one hunk of metal wasn’t that much different than the next, _unless it had been enchanted_.

Honestly, having the only witness suddenly die - Merlin didn’t count any more than the tapestries - was actually more suspicious rather than less. So was Sir Leon’s absence, not that the King was willing to wait for him to show up. Granted, the gracious way Valiant took Merlin’s desperate interruption almost made Merlin doubt what he’d seen. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d clearly seen magic that was technically invisible to every other living creature. Arthur had just agreed to withdraw his allegation when Sir Leon rushed in.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for… why is this lad being held like a prisoner?” Sir Leon did a double take at the guards holding Merlin’s arms.

“The boy is insolent,” the King proclaimed.

“He does talk,” Sir Leon agreed, “but I’ve seen the truth in his words this morning.” The knight held out his arm, the long thick body of a bright green snake coiled in his hand.

“What is this?” King Uther sputtered. “Have all my knights forgotten the place of a serving boy?” Merlin should have been watching the king’s anger, but the look on Arthur’s face as he took in the size of the snake was far more interesting.

“Last evening that lad brought me down to the Physician’s chambers to bear witness to Sir Ewan’s injuries, according to some protocol for uninvolved witnesses in an old law book he used to learn his letters. I saw no harm in humoring him, and I am very glad I did.”

“Your majesty,” Knight Valliant protested, “I am an honorable man, but this goes too far.”

“Too far?” Arthur echoed, clearly disturbed. “From the size of this snake I’d say it hasn’t gone far enough.”

“Speak, Sir Leon,” Uther allowed, the suspicion and doubt that had crept onto his face when Arthur’s courage was questioned back on his face, “so that we can properly settle this.”

“On my honor, I will say only what I believe to be true, though I beg your majesty’s patience so that all will be clear, and no further misunderstandings made. I promise not to make the tale shorter or longer than it must be. Before we came down to see Sir Ewan, the servant Merlin told me only that there was evidence of cheating in the tournament, that according to his understanding of the law he needed an uninvolved man of honor to bear witness to the evidence, and that he had seen the cheating happen by virtue of sitting in the dirt below the level of the stands to watch the tournament. He then refused to answer further questions until I had seen this evidence for myself for fear of tainting my opinion, again in accordance to his understanding of the law.

“I am no physician, but I observed there was no cut on Sir Ewan from a sword, and only the expected and uninteresting bruises I know a man can shrug off easily. There was one bite mark, from a snake, on the man’s neck. His fever looked as I would expect a poisoned man to. The Court Physician confirmed this with me. It was only then the boy told me that when Sir Vallient had Sir Ewan pinned, it appeared as if one of the snakes came alive and bit Sir Ewan.”

“This is ridiculous,” Valliant scoffed.

“This proves there is some truth to the tale, I think,” Sir Leon tossed the snake of the floor so it’s full length was more obvious. “Then again, the boy admitted that he was startled and the horror of it affected his concentration. He claimed he heard hissing as he passed Knight Valiant’s door while doing his usual chores and could not ignore it, if only to clear his head. When he entered the room and approached the shield, he claims the snakes came alive at him. This may well have been a vision born of a boy’s terror rather than full truth. However, he cut one of the three snakes heads’ off and went to his surrogate father in a panic.”

“His surrogate…? He’s nearly grown,” King Uther contradicted. Sir Leon looked over his shoulder at Merlin.

“How old can he possibly be? Certainly not more than seventeen, from how he talks,” Sir Leon asked.

“Fifteen winters,” Merlin replied sheepishly.

“You are not,” Arthur mumbled.

“Sire,” Gaius politely caught the courts attention. “I can answer that and correct a slight misunderstanding of my relationship with Merlin. My grand-nephew and prospective apprentice had his fifteenth birthday just after the turn of the new year.” Merlin frowned a little. Was the new year for Camelot at Yule, or did Gaius think he had been born in November?

“May I finish?” Sir Leon asked respectfully, and Merlin had to admire his patience. The guards holding Merlin dropped his arms and gave him an appraising look. He rubbed them self-consciously.

“Continue,” the King ordered.

“The boy told me the severed head of the snake was in Prince Arthur’s possession, and that he had gone to his master with the discovery as soon as he was calm enough to think clearly. I was to go down and help Gaius fetch Sir Ewan this morning, so he could testify, but I was waylaid by this serpent on the stair. I continued on to the physician’s room. Inside, I saw Sir Ewan’s unmoving body lying on the bed. The guard in the hallway told me Gaius had left for a moment to fetch something, come back, and then rushed suddenly from the room. Given that the snake had acted in a most unnatural manner upon the stair, I took a second look at my fallen comrade. There were two more bites on him in addition to the one I saw last night, on his arm as if he’d raised it to block the strike and another on his hip. In my opinion there is no question that this is what killed him while the Physician was out of the room.”

“You say the snake was acting unnaturally,” the King prompted.

“Such beasts are usually dumb and fearful of grown men. This one seemed quite intent on getting at my blood and moved with cunning. It was no match for me, but for a country boy after dark with only whatever sharp object he had to hand it must have been a terror,” Sir Leon affirmed. “I cannot say that the shield is enchanted or if this boy was just too excited by the tournament and startled by the horror of it all to understand what he saw. However, two real snakes have been found, one in Sir Valiant’s room, and I have not seen their like in all my years hunting. It is almost certain the boy did see these snakes, and that their venom is what slew Sir Ewan.”

“The charge was sorcery,” King Uther reminded the court. “No sorcery has been found, and Prince Arthur already withdrew his charge. I cannot condemn a knight based on hearsay from a servant. However, this is troubling.” The king gestured to the dead snake.

“The boy can be pardoned for his high emotion,” Leon suggested, and Merlin realized that Sir Leon hadn’t been in the room to hear the king relent on that. “His devotion to his master, his youth, and his unfamiliarity with the reality of battle led him to fully believe his story. Prince Arthur likewise was right to bring this before you, as he received physical proof of foul play. Of course, the Prince had better things to do than follow his servant through the palace to examine injuries, and so sent the boy to me to seek the truth.”

“You admit conspiracy, then?” Valiant asked. “All the evidence still comes from this one servant. I was ready to forgive him before, but he has attempted to dishonor three good men now.”

“What explanation do you have for this, then?” Arthur asked. “Sir Ewan, who was hale before his match with you, fell to poison. We have the heads of two snakes and the body of one, or do you suggest they were imagined into existence?”

“Not imagined. Planted,” Sir Valiant charged. Merlin suddenly realized the missing piece, but one look at the furious king had him clap his hand on his mouth to stop from speaking. Uther noticed.

“Boy,” King Uther commanded. Merlin stepped up next to Leon and Arthur, standing as straight as he dared in case proper posture was also taken as an insult. “I will allow you one chance to confess.”

“My lord, my confession is this: I do not care who wins the tournament. It would not affect me either way, so I have no motivation to commit the high crime of murder,” Merlin spoke clearly.

“Murder?” several people gasped, Arthur being the loudest.

“Sir Ewan is dead, and what else is it to accuse someone falsely of sorcery in Camelot?” Merlin asked Arthur indignantly, then hurried to finish before anyone cut him off. “I’m studying to become a physician, and even if I’m not a noble I can still take offense at the idea that I’d kill a sick man - a betrayal of my chosen craft. If I was to do this, I would have needed to know the exact look of Sir Valiant’s shield, that he would face you in the final, and that I would be made your manservant ages ago to prepare all this in time. If someone other than Sir Valiant is behind this, then it’s someone who has known him long before the tournament and is either helping him win or hoping he is caught as a cheater. It’s not like you would lose if it was a fair fight, anyway.”

“A curious assertion,” King Uther said, his voice too calculating for Merlin’s taste. “There is clearly nothing magical about this shield. The snakes are dead. We shall consider the final match of the tournament a trial by combat.”

“Your majesty,” Sir Leon spoke up, with a note of concern. At least one person in the room could subtract two from three.

“This is my judgment,” King Uther shouted, and then it was over.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Sacking Merlin was uncalled for. No matter if it was out of turn, someone had to say the obvious thing. He couldn’t wrap his head around the logic of nobles at all. The dragon was fucking useless. Gwen was actually much better at motivating him. He couldn’t just let Valiant get away with this. Even if the shield couldn’t spawn the two dead snakes again immediately, which it might do, there was one left. The final match of the Tournament was set for tomorrow morning. Merlin was glad he had a lot of free time to learn the needed spell, but by the time he finally managed to animate the dog statue and run to the stadium the match was ready to begin.

Arthur really wasn’t doing too badly, and Merlin saw he was being wary of the shield. Merlin almost didn’t cast the spell at all, but then Arthur lost his shield and Valiant did not drop his as proper etiquette suggested. They smacked into the wall so close Merlin could almost touch them, and Merlin almost couldn’t breathe when the prince was fully disarmed. As soon as Arthur got some distance from his opponent Merlin acted. A single snake emerged from the shield. The reactions were priceless. Lady Morgana was the first to recover from the shock and stole a sword for Arthur, who immediately beheaded the snake. The final blows had everyone cheering. Arthur may not have said anything when he saw Merlin skulking, but the playful shove said enough.

As he’d been sacked so quickly, he wasn’t offered the same pay he’d gotten the first time for helping at the feast. Now that he knew the high cost of food in the city he could tell what a pittance it really was. He’d technically been making more as Arthur’s servant when he factored in the value of the food.

“I just wanted to say, it was unfair to sack you,” Arthur said to Merlin. The apology was unexpected, particularly on the back of the Prince’s dismissal of Morgana’s help.

“Don’t worry about it. Buy me a drink, we’ll call it even,” Merlin deadpanned. Arthur’s face morphed from open-mouthed disbelief to a pinched smile as he held in a laugh.

“I can’t really be seen to be buying drinks for my servant,” Arthur answered.

“Your servant? You sacked me.”

“And now I’m rehiring you,” Arthur shrugged. Merlin laughed a little, but as the list of chores droned on the bright smile fell off his face.


	4. The Mark of Nimueh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble-sized episode tag for season 1 episode 3.

A plague in a city had toppled kings in the past, and Merlin had gathered caution from seeing whole families die of a spreading sickness in the village. Enough to hang back a little when Gaius was called to aid a man who had a strange illness, and even further when they were called to him again after he collapsed in the street. The dark haze clinging to the man Merlin saw through his magic set his teeth on edge. He’d thought Gaius would know some trick of the trade that kept him from being infected, but it was just bravery and responsibility. Juggling his job, helping Gaius, and trying to keep up the same discipline in his studies he was used to had him running late for everything this last week. Being given over to Gaius completely for the time being would have been a relief if he wasn’t exhausted by hauling heavy bodies and terrified of contracting the illness himself.

The ruthless search of the town was shocking, though with all the times Father had ranted about Uther it shouldn’t have been. Merlin hid the magic book under the floorboards as soon as they got back to the infirmary, old fireside conversations about the horror of the purge top of mind. He’d almost convinced himself Father’s tales were exaggerated when Arthur and a troop of guards stormed in. He thought it would be fine until Arthur called him upstairs.

“I found a place where you can put things, it’s called a cupboard,” Arthur quipped. Merlin wished he was relaxed enough to laugh at the joke.

“I’ve been around the sick and the dead the last few days,” Merlin answered with a nervous laugh. “I need to cleanse it all properly before I put it away, but Gaius needs my help first. I haven’t had time.” Arthur paused at that, then switched to shifting the mostly clean, nightmare-scattered items with his boot instead of his hands as he gave a very cursory search of the room. He noted Merlin’s wash basin was prepared with fragrant herbs floating in the water and after Merlin’s expressive nod used it before he left.

Merlin was sick, though only of heart, when he realized Gwen would be executed because he healed her father. Fifty people had died, and he thought… He didn’t think, he’d just felt. Gauis was right, he simply didn’t think about what it would look like. He’d wanted to test the magic before using it on more people, but instead it brought out the worst of Uther’s madness. He should have known, if only from how frustrated Gaius was, that he felt tied down just as surely as Merlin did. Gauis knew the king’s mind and habits. Uther had killed healers before, and worse. Merlin shouldn’t have been surprised he would kill the innocent. Gaius tried to be kind about it, but the older man’s voice blended with his Father’s in his ears. There was only one honorable thing to do.

Worse, or better he couldn’t really decide, Gwen seemed to know he’d had something to do with it when he visited her. She wasn’t talking, she cut him off before he could, and it was really quite wonderfully sweet of her. He couldn’t let her die in his place, but turning himself in wasn’t the suicide he’d expected it to be.

The dragon gave him some useful advice for once, even though the arrogant thing could have just said ‘kill it with wind and fire.’ It could have even told him ‘it is a creature of earth and water, but you can only strike with one when you oppose it’ if it needed to speak in riddles and bad poetry. It’s personality mirrored some of the most stuck-up nobles, and as a servant Merlin just didn’t rank high enough to be taken seriously. The Afanc was hideous black magic, the worst Merlin had ever seen. There were nearly a hundred people laid out in the courtyard because of this horror, and he could not see the sense in all those deaths.

He hadn’t expected Lady Morgana to come along, and it was a little enlightening. Merlin thought she and Arthur bickered like family and Merlin could easily guess what sort of thing she’d said to get Arthur to come down to fight this creature. It was both a source of frustration and relief that both Lady Morgana and Arthur were right there when he used magic and they had not even noticed. Though, maybe…

Maybe they just knew better than to point it out.


	5. The Poisoned Chalice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First major plot divergence from canon. King Bayard takes an interest in the boy who accused him of attempting to poison Prince Arthur, and it reminds him of a man he once knew well.

Merlin remembered the stupid hat. He remembered drinking the poison. The details were fuzzy, but he knew what had happened in broad strokes. He had a vague idea that Gwen had been short with him at the beginning of things for some reason, but considering how she kissed him when he woke it was probably fine. More than fine, if it could happen again sometime when he didn’t feel like death. The dreams he’d had were horrid, not that he could properly remember them, either. Spiders crawling all over, a bottomless pit, and a cloying voice that lied. Probably best the memory of them was fading fast.

Gaius shouted about it, but Merlin couldn’t stay in the sickbed. It stunk of sweat and technically he’d died in it. He’d got better, but he wasn’t going to lie there in the place his heart had stopped even if it did mean crawling on the floor. He managed to stay upright on the bench by leaning heavily on the table and occasionally laying his head down on his arms. Gaius finally relented after the second time Merlin crawled out of bed and let him stay there with an assurance that as soon as the sun set he’d be packed away under clean sheets. He was still sweating more than he should even though his skin was cool to the touch, so Merlin was wrapped in a blanket to ward off a chill. Gaius kept a cup of water full for him all the time and prompted him to sip it at regular intervals for fear of dehydration.

When the door burst open he expected Gwen again or possibly Arthur, but instead it was no less than King Bayard of Mercia. The man ignored Gaius’s polite greeting and stalked across the room to stand over Merlin. Two knights in Mercia blue and yellow looked around the room for threats, then stepped outside to guard the door.

“Your Majesty, Merlin is not well,” Gaius tried again to get the man’s attention. “As the boy’s guardian, I can answer any questions you might…” A short commotion at the door cut Gaius off.

“King Bayard,” Arthur’s voice came through the door first, and then the Prince pushed his way through flanked by the two foreign knights. It looked like Arthur had been jogging down the hallway.

“Guard the door as I told you to, the Prince may as well be here if he values loyalty as much as it appears he does,” the King dismissed his men with only the shortest glance toward the door. “He seems to be better than his father on that count.”

“I hope you are not unwell,” Arthur spoke briskly. The ‘or looking to blame my servant for what has happened’ implied heavily by his tone and the way he came to stand within arms reach of Merlin. It was weird, Arthur was wearing clothing so plain and musty he wondered what the prince could have possibly been doing.

“I’m not sure. I feel like I’m looking at a ghost,” the King declared, not looking away from Merlin.

“That’s in poor taste,” Merlin said. “My heart stopped for a bit the day before yesterday. I ought to I look ghostly.”

“Merlin, that is not something to joke about,” Gaius nagged. Then, to the king, “He is quite ill, don’t mark his words too closely.”

“I won’t ask an ill child to stand on ceremony, but can he even sit up?” Bayard asked curiously.

“He really shouldn’t be out of bed,” Gaius said with a sigh.

“I’m not laying in the bed I died in,” Merlin grumped. “I’m fine here.”

“Even this puts proof to it, then. He doesn’t really need to speak much. His actions have been clear enough. Why such a person serves as a servant in Uther’s household, now that is the puzzle,” Bayard muttered and took a seat on the stool at the end of the table, right by Merlin’s elbow. “You look just like him. I don’t know why I didn’t see it immediately. Well, just like him if you stripped half the meat off his bones. I was unaware Uther was in the habit of starving his servants.”

“Oh, I eat well enough,” Merlin assured, his heart beating in his chest like a caged bird. “I’m just thin boned. Sir.”

“Hogwash. I wouldn’t put it past Uther to starve his former best friend’s son out of spite. You wouldn’t be lowering my opinion on him by confirming it,” Bayard scoffed and grabbed Merlin’s chin so he could turn his face. The man talked with a measured beat that neither hurried nor gave an obvious pause in which to reply, and had a commanding quality of voice that did not invite interruption in the first place. “I suppose it’s half the actions and half the face. Lord Ambrosius was one of the finest men I’d ever met, a proper and brave man who fought off terrifying creatures and stopped a lot of mischief. Kindhearted and loyal to a fault. He drank poison for Uther once, too. Nothing as serious as this, it was at a meeting of noblemen in the days before Uther conquered this kingdom. I remember it well. There was some squabbling about who would rule what patch of land after they pushed the Saxons out of the lower lands and it escalated. It wasn’t much worse than too much drink, and he had a natural tolerance for such things that you seem to have inherited if the rumors that this was orchestrated by a sorceress hold true.”

“I’m, I’m not… You are making a mistake,” Merlin protested.

“The question is, would the Prince condemn you to death as a reward for telling the truth of your noble birth, or would he keep a secret for the boy who saved his life?” Bayard speculated, finally turning from Merlin to look at Arthur. The prince’s face was a study in confusion.

“Merlin? He’s just a servant from some tiny village.”

“Does the name Balinor Ambrosius spark nothing in your memory?” Bayard asked. “I knew Uther had a habit of casting aside the orphans and widows of those he deemed disgraced, at least when he couldn’t manage to execute them, but I didn’t realize he also erased their names and good works from the histories.”

“Sire, I believe you are mistaken. Merlin is my grand-nephew, and I have no noble blood,” Gaius tried to explain. “I earned my place through the study of science.”

“I must point out that a grand-uncle is a distant relation, and there is much family history not accounted for in you alone. You were also a sorcerer knowledgeable in the healing arts and one of Uther and Lord Balinor’s close companions in the days before Queen Ygraine’s death before you forsook your talents to obey Uther’s new law. I may have placed strict laws against malicious sorcery in Mercia, but we do not execute healers,” Bayard cut off Gaius, and the physician’s face paled to match Merlin’s.

“This is madness,” Arthur protested. “I’m not certain who has been telling you these tales, King Bayard, but they are nonsense.”

“So this is the measure of Uther’s confidence in his heir?” King Bayard asked speculatively. “I would have you listen to me a while, and and then consider my words thoughtfully before dismissing them. I’d suggest appealing to the palace record keeper if I did not know of Uther’s love for book burning, but then again he can’t have purged it all without also erasing some of his own great works and his arrogance would not allow that.”

“My father is an honorable man,” Arthur started a rant.

“King Bayard,” Merlin interrupted, “I lived all my life in a small farming village in Essetir before I came to Camelot.”

“Which is a crime committed against you by Cenred indirectly, and by Uther directly. You see why I had to come talk to you, lad. If you are being held here by ransom, force, or lack of means, then I am bound by honor and a debt to your family to see you removed from Camelot. When we were languishing in the dungeon I was able to ask after you. You have made quite the impression in your short stay here, and the servants and guards were eager to explain to us what sort of good person our supposed treachery had injured. I was told you came here to learn the physician’s trade, that you saved Prince Arthur from a singing assassin, were rewarded by being made to scrub floors during hours you were meant to be studying as an apprentice, recognized and reported a dire enchantment on a cheater’s shield without reward, and confessed to healing a man sick with plague after an innocent was jailed for the crime. I understand no one here believed a farm boy could do such a thing, but knowing who you really are I have no doubt that you committed the act and then acted nobly by admitting you broke the law in an act of mercy even in the face of certain execution,” King Bayard spoke with such conviction, and his words were so clearly rehearsed and thought through, that Merlin could only flap his right hand against the table and work his jaw, unable to think of a weak point in the argument to attack. His life wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t all that horrible, and he had to be better at keeping secrets than this after an entire lifetime of instruction and practice.

“It was hard to get any detail about the sickness,” Bayard continued. “The superstitions held up around such things, particularly by the uneducated, are to be expected. Still, my people managed to get the tale told. It was some foul beast born of sorcery that caused it, slain by the prince. If I bet that you stood at his side when he slew the creature I would be right, would I not? Perhaps, it was your hand that offered him the weapon that felled the creature, which he took from you automatically because you are his servant without looking to see if there was any special oil or blessing on the blade?”

“I just led him down to it, after we found it while testing the water,” the words jumped out of Merlin in a tumble. Arthur shifted from foot to foot, thinking. Merlin had of course been the one to bring the torches and the eruption of flames that consumed the Afanc was only very tenuously understood as something caused by the creature itself. Arthur had very clearly wanted to put all thought of the horrific thing out of mind and had accepted Merlin’s guileless shrug with a dismissive comment. Merlin did not need someone forcing Arthur to use his brain when the Prince was happy to indulge in intellectual sloth. “All I did was… was haul dead bodies around and make a fool of myself.” King Bayard’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, and he looked around the room as if noticing where he was for the first time.

“You helped the Court Physician tend the dying,” King Bayard said with a note of unease. “How many did you watch die before you acted?”

“I did as I was told,” Merlin said, but it was breathy and sounded too much like begging. Arthur’s hand on his shoulder - too close to his neck - felt like one side of a noose.

“You were told magic is illegal and even healers would be sent to the pyre,” Bayard listed out, tapping the tabletop as he made each point. “You were told to haul the bodies of the sick and dying. Two days in, at about the time a torturer could expect sleeplessness and emotional strain to addle his victim’s judgment, a man was healed. A creature of blackest magic was defeated by a Prince so ignorant of magical creatures and those who combat them he does not recognize the name of the man his father owes his crown to. You don’t have to confess to having knowledge of magic again, lad, I know you already have.” Gaius was wringing his hands and Arthur’s fingers were pressing too tightly into Merlin’s collarbone.

“If that was not enough,” the King went on, “the serving girl who told us about the first time you saved the Prince’s life showed me that such ignorance is pervasive. I’d make a joke about something being in the water if it was not in such poor taste given recent events. She said she had been serving the nobles at the feast when everyone fell asleep to a sorceress’ foul spell. Then, the chandelier fell on her breaking the spell. She was much more interested in talking about how you’d leapt to pull Arthur away from the thrown blade, and did not understand why we kept asking about the chandelier. Why did it fall? She didn’t understand the question, poor thing, but I’d had my most handsome knight flirting with her and she very much wanted to impress him. What pulled it down? She finally found some spark of intelligence and said the cobwebs the spell created would not have been heavy enough to pull it down. She also remembered one damning detail. You, lad, were the only one not covered in cobwebs. The only one the spell did not touch. Just as the recent sickness did not touch you, my knight prompted. She gasped then, babbled something about an enchanted shield, and said you were the only one _so completely immune to magic_ that she’d heard tell of. Silly girl, really, but it was a better thought to leave her with than something more sensible. I would not put it past Uther to have the headsman pull you from your sickbed.”

“If you know so well what rumors about sorcery do to people in Camelot, why would you do this to me?” Merlin asked. “I’m no one. I’m not immune to magic, that’s stupid. Like being immune to wildfire or rain. I’m not… anything. I’m just a servant.”

“Was it another nine-year-old lad from Ealdor that ripped the throat out of a sorceress who tried to blight your village’s crops?” King Bayard asked suddenly. Gaius’ mouth dropped open and the older man settled onto the bench as if he wasn’t capable of standing.

“By the gods,” Gaius murmured, looking at Merlin with something too close to fear.

“She fell,” Merlin blurted. “She’d used a spinning wheel to… do something evil. She fell backwards and the spindle…” Merlin had to stop and swallow hard, the water he’d been drinking climbing up and threatening to spill all over the table.

“Merlin, you,” Arthur spoke, but didn’t seem to have an end to his sentence. It grounded Merlin, somehow, knowing that Arthur was adrift. He couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the solid hold of Arthur’s hand and the slight body heat at his back was comforting. It sounded like Arthur wasn’t condemning him, that instead, he was trying to understand.

“Whatever talent you have, is a gift. Whatever ability, inborn or learned, that lets you see, resist, or undo foul magics: Uther would see it only as sorcery and give you an execution as reward for your good work,” King Bayard assured. “I would give you tutors. I would see you trained up as a witch-finder or assassin, with proper clothing instead of peasant rags and no immediate duties beyond honing your skills to a razor edge. Your father, and I will allow that I could be mistaken despite being quite sure I am not, has driven magical beasts from my lands several times since Uther betrayed him. I had asked him, repeatedly, to stay and live as part of my court. He refuses. I have often wondered why he shunned a life of comfort. It seemed a religious thing, at times, a sort of ascetic vow. Looking at you, peering between the facts I know to guess at the truth, and knowing that you come from a place that allows sorcery but is ruled by a King consumed in hedonism and greed, I think I can puzzle out the truth. I would offer you an exception to the ban on violent sorcery that exists in my lands, fashioned after the Knights' Code of Honor, same as I once offered it to him.”

“The only reason I’m breathing is because of Prince Arthur’s will and favor,” Merlin replied with conviction. He fought to sit up straight by pushing hard on the edge of the table with his elbows, his hands and forearms flat on the tabletop. It was ruined slightly by a lot of shaking and the pressure of Arthur’s hand was the only thing that stopped him from falling backward off the bench. “I am _his_ servant. He saved my life from the poison that is still burning in my blood. Whatever else you think you know about me, you need to remember that, first. I will not leave his service unless he dismisses me.” King Bayard nodded as if he’d expected no less and had only let Merlin speak out of pity and politeness, which was frustrating. The King looked up at Arthur expectantly.

“Your father would burn this brave boy if he suspected who his father was, and never mind the rest,” Bayard warned. “He is utterly irrational about those who offered to help him through his grief in the days after your mother’s death, and executed several of his friends on the charge of enchanting their king when they had at best spoken out of turn in an effort to soothe his pain and calm his rage. Again, I could be wrong about that heritage, but while I have enough sense to talk about these things in private behind a guarded door, others might voice such a thing publicly. Surely, I am not the only one with suspicions about the boy’s esoteric nature. They might even see it as a favor done for him, so that he would not have to waste time cleaning and fetching when he ought to be doing more productive work. He would be safe in my court, and if his father still lives he might hear of the boy’s high place and return from whatever rock he’s been hiding under the last few years.”

“Merlin is my servant,” Arthur said, a solemn inflection in his tone that made it sound more like he was talking about one of his knights than the person who washed his socks. “Where he came from does not matter, as he has risked his life for mine.”

“Hiding this from your father causes you no trouble?” Bayard asked speculatively. “Or are you merely too greedy to let something precious of yours escape into another’s hands?”

“Perhaps,” Gaius said, his voice weak and trembling, “it would be better if Merlin left for a while. Just back home, under the pretense of his village not being able to make do without more labor for the next planting. Having admitted to sorcery once, he will be the first to be blamed if dangerous rumors start up again.”

“But this is my purpose, to help and protect…” Merlin breathed, slightly dizzy as the lingering weakness pulled at him. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten up from the bed today. The grip on his shoulder tightening shut him up.

“You could protect more people if you did not have to stay your hand in the face of plague,” Bayard said mercilessly, leaning in and gripping Merlin’s wrist. “How many more could you have saved before the exhaustion of the effort put you abed? A skilled blacksmith has far more worth than just as a sweet girl’s father. How many people could you have saved, not just directly from death but from the rippling want of the loss of skilled tradesmen, if you acted with a King’s guidance as to those most needed to the function of the city?”

“I tried,” Merlin sobbed, unable to take it.

“Merlin,” Gaius gasped. “Please, he’s still very sick, and the fever had him speaking to phantoms. This is too cruel. You could twist words around and make him believe the sea and sky swapped places if you keep pressing him.”

“As cruel as making a boy healer watch the sick he could have helped die, making him literally carry the guilt as he hauled dead bodies through the streets, making him hear the wails of spouses and orphans, making him sit on his hands and do nothing as the people of his city die around him when he had the power to ease their suffering?” Bayard pressed, smacking the table and making Merlin jump. His eyes stung, his face was wet, his breath came in shuddering sobs, and he felt like death again.

“Enough, King Bayard,” Arthur barked. “You have made your point. Merlin wishes to stay in my service. I have not gone to the forest of Balor and back only to see him handed off to another kingdom. You accuse my father of dishonorable actions, insinuate that I would approve of them, and all the while you are attacking a boy too sick to sit up without being held in place!” Gaius pushed between Merlin and Bayard to pull Merlin up, batting Arthur’s painful grip off of his shoulder. With more strength than he thought the old man had, he carried Merlin from the bench to the sickbed and stood between him and the two royals.

“If you are done torturing a boy who has only ever acted from duty and kindness,” Gaius scolded. “I shall have to ask you to leave my charge to rest. If you send him back into death’s arms I will be sure to tell anyone who will listen that you performed an unforgivable evil on him.”

“Very well,” King Bayard blustered. “My offer of sanctuary stands. If the boy finds himself at loose ends I will gladly take him up.” Arthur stayed as the foreign king left, going to the door to check that he was properly gone before slamming it shut. The Prince turned back to the two commoners, picking his way back across the room to where Gaius was standing along a scattered and wandering path. He looked about as confused as Merlin was dizzy. He looked briefly at Gaius.

“Does he need anything else?” Arthur asked.

“Just rest and food, Sire. He was delirious with fever and it will take some time before his strength comes back,” Gaius explained.

“Merlin,” Arthur said quietly, looking down hesitantly at where the younger boy was panting on the bed, “be at ease. I don’t believe half of that blowhard’s absurd theories, and if they reach my father I will ensure he knows it to be lies and manipulation spread by Bayard out of spite. Rest. Heal. We will discuss….” The prince blinked once, twice, and then his face cleared of confusion. “We will discuss your tendency to see things others do not when you are well enough to serve my breakfast. Bayard has no notion of the true order of events, nor could any sane person imagine a living contradiction as frustrating as you.”


	6. Not a Sorcerer, Not without Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin discuss King Bayard's accusations. A rant about the canon series in the endnotes.

Merlin had no idea what to expect when he went back to work. He probably shouldn’t be, and when the steward saw him check in as he entered the kitchen he gave Merlin a tongue lashing that stopped just short of ordering Merlin back to bed. The cook loaded him down with a heavy tray and he knew he was running late as he stopped to rest a moment at the top of a couple stairways. Arthur was already out of bed and partially dressed by the time he got up there. He unloaded the breakfast tray directly onto the table instead of leaving it in the antechamber and walking back and forth with the individual plates like he was supposed to. He put the tray away and came back into the front room with a pitcher of water some other servant must have left for him in the antechamber as the prince sat down at the table. Merlin set down the pitcher of water and backed away from the table, standing with his head down as a proper servant should for once.

“I see you have not taken up Mercia’s colors,” Arthur observed with a gesture to the ratty tan tunic Merlin wore under his red neckerchief instead of his usual blue one.

“Did you expect me to?” Merlin asked.

“No,” Arthur said simply. “Though you might have fled elsewhere, given the severity of those accusations.”

“Fleeing would be the same as saying that I think I have done something evil,” Merlin murmured.

“Sit down,” Arthur ordered. Merlin just looked up at his serious expression and blinked at him. “I can not have my manservant going about looking like a wraith or fainting in the hallway, it reflects badly on my household.”

“I’m sorry, Sire,” Merlin apologized.

“Now I know you are still ill,” Arthur sighed. Merlin hesitantly pulled a spare wicker chair away from the wall to sit next to Arthur, ignoring the finer carved one already in place further down the table. “Eat something, but don’t get used to this. It is unseemly for me to share a table with a servant.” Merlin didn’t answer, just reached out to take one of the thick slices of bread and cover it with crumbled cheese and a slice of ham the way Arthur liked before serving himself. For a moment they both just ate, Merlin acting in a parody of the hospitality his mother sometimes offered travelers.

“King Bayard leaves tomorrow at dawn,” Arthur said when more than half the food was gone. Even with both of them, it had been a generous portion. Merlin wondered if the Prince had ordered that in advance. “I want you to know that if anything he offered you was tempting, or if there is something special you need either due to what we are about to discuss or as a lingering result of the poison, you should tell me directly. Every man has his price, and I’d rather know about it if the temptation anything he offered you factored into your distress. You are constantly late, lack any understanding of courtly propriety, are more likely to trip on air than walk a straight line, and have an insolent tongue.” The Prince paused and sighed, his gaze moving slowly across the room before settling on Merlin properly. “You have also managed to save my life twice - arguably thrice - and perform most of your tasks with almost reckless speed that shows your dedication. You have proven that I can trust you, I think it is past time you trust me in return.”

“The chance to, well he hadn’t said it this way, but to spend part of the day in a proper library - with or without a tutor. But he can’t give me what I left home for: Gaius’ books and instruction. You saw how many he has, and I don’t think any two repeat anything,” Merlin hazarded, surprised at how short his breath still was after all the stairs. He couldn’t get through a full thought without a pause. Truthfully, it hadn’t been very tempting, but Arthur clearly wouldn’t believe that Merlin wasn’t enticed by anything King Bayard offered. “That was tempting, something I’d like once in a while. He wasn’t wrong that this job stops me from keeping up with my studies in the manner I am accustomed to. On the other hand, even if I have spent every spare moment in study for most of my memory, I was still living in a small farming village and I’m used to hard work and simple means. The kind of luxury he offered sounds nice at first, but I don’t know. Once I though about the details,” Merlin shrugged. Once he’d talked them over with Gaius, actually, who pointed out how often Merlin criticized the pageantry and useless faffing about the upper class engaged in. Merlin didn’t normally wear the livery he was supposed to while on the job, and hated it those few times he’d had to. In Mercia, he’d have to spend weeks learning stupid courtly procedure for his special position and then bother to remember it all the time. “I do need coin to support myself until I can be properly useful to Gaius, and serving you isn’t all hardship with no reward. I wouldn’t want to learn what he was offering me, though. At all. I’m not an assassin.”

“Yet you had your first such kill at age nine, and have some sort of reputation that reached Mercia from Essetir,” Arthur reminded him softly, then pushed ahead as if afraid to hear more of an explanation. “I went to the library the last two days when I wasn’t busy helping my father get the treaties properly signed. Bayard kept giving me meaningful looks; I wanted to punch him.”

“I do hope you didn’t strain yourself reading too many complicated words,” Merlin quipped. He tensed, unsure, but Arthur just smirked.

“No more than you do, I’m sure. Is your ability to sniff out foul magic inborn or trained?” Arthur asked.

“Does it matter? Your skill with a sword is as much the result of being born hale and hearty as it is long hours of training,” Merlin responded with a shrug. Arthur frowned and huffed.

“It does to me. I think you are a Spell Breaker,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “I found the term in a horrible book; it had half it’s pages torn out or blackened. A witch-finder seeks out sorcerers to kill them. A spell breaker seeks out foul works to take apart and purifies the remains. It’s the razor’s edge of a difference I suppose, but a significant one. One in keeping with your gentle personality. It still involves killing those who cast the black magic when it is unavoidable, but that is not the primary aim, and witch-finders don’t concern themselves much with breaking spells or cleaning up whatever mess the sorcerer made. There was an inference of some special talent involved in the trade of Spell Breaking and only brute force and a keen mind in witch-finding. The text was unclear with all the missing pages, but it sounded like something inherited, the sort of family trait or highly specialized trade Bayard might have noticed and mistakenly connected to some fallen noble house.”

“Inborn,” Merlin admitted. It felt like being set free and crushed at the same time, to have to tell the truth and lie in the same breath. Gaius had coached him over and over on how to thread this needle. If Arthur found some gray area where he could comfortably categorize Merlin then that was dangerous, but only slightly more so than bungling an outright denial after all the things Bayard had said. If he had already found a palatable explanation then Merlin would have to try and live with it. Just so long as no one called him Ambrosius again. “The base talent is something I could do before I could talk, though I’ve never heard the term Spell Breaker. I have studied how to use it properly, so it is trained as well. I won’t deny it: Some of what I know is, ah, if not outright banned then highly repressed here in Camelot. I didn’t bring those books with me, of course, but even if I burned them I can’t pull that knowledge out of my head any more than Gaius can forget the healing spells he once used.”

“Gaius really does know magic?” Arthur gaped.

“I thought everyone knew he did. When he made the law forbidding magic, King Uther pardoned Gaius after he swore off ever using it again, because they were close friends for years and years before the ban and the kingdom still needed a physician,” Merlin explained. “Gaius helped heal the wounded from the battle where your father conquered Camelot, and he used magic to do it swiftly.”

“My father condoned this?” Arthur asked, confused.

“Before the ban on magic, everyone did,” Merlin shrugged, rambling a little as he tried to explain without angering the prince. “I’m really shocked you didn’t know. It’s only been illegal for two decades and was perfectly acceptable in most places since the beginning of recorded history before that. Didn’t you have to study the battles in your history lessons? I suppose not everyone would have access to a first-hand account like I did, but you are the heir apparent to the throne. The details of swordplay were a bit wasted on me at the time, though he did try. He kept mostly to broader instruction about tactics and the resources available to the armies, and there was magic used on both sides of the battle. Why would one side deliberately hamstring themselves when there wasn’t a law preventing the use of magic?”

_“You_ had instruction on military tactics?” Arthur asked slowly.

“I’ve had as full an education as was possible for my family to provide,” Merlin shrugged. “It was really just the one war, and the broader theory about how war is conducted. The rest was more like bedtime stories, treats for when I’d finished my other lessons.”

“These magic books you studied, what were they?” Arthur asked primly.

“They were mostly about magic-wielding historical figures, magical creatures, and the base elements. Simple things, not lists of spells so much as the theory behind them - how it works on a deeper level. How to counter water and earth with fire and air, as with the Afanc. Some would consider knowing how to read and speak the language of the Old Religion close enough to sorcery on it’s own, though I’m hardly the only person who can in the citadel. It used to be proper for anyone with a scholarly mind to learn it. I doubt it’s even uncommon for the older generation, not that most would admit it.”

“Sorcery is a thing learned by the greedy who crave power and domination over others, not a language or an inborn talent used to heal the sick and counter foul works,” Arthur challenged, meeting and holding Merlin’s eyes.

“Counting you I think I’ve met three people in Camelot who would separate my ability to see and understand magic from evil sorcery worthy of execution. Granted, only three people know, but none of you can protect me from the person whose opinion actually matters if I get caught at it. In his mind, the only ways to prove someone’s innocence properly are to execute the person and see that some ongoing spell did not end or for someone to catch the actual culprit and bring him irrefutable proof,” Merlin’s voice trailed off as he spoke, dwindling to a whisper at the end, well aware he was saying something treasonous.

“Take care of your words,” Arthur warned dangerously. Merlin took a sip of water to play off his sudden lack of volume as from a sore throat and used the time to think about some of the things his parents taught him.

“If I promise to listen to any hard evidence to the contrary and accept that I am in the wrong, can I give you one of the reasons why I hold that opinion that you might already know about from reading reports about the state of the realm, or if not you could easily look up?” Merlin asked. “You already know I’m not going to run from you, and if you think I need more correction than simple words for questioning the King then after you prove me wrong I’ll take whatever punishment you think is just.”

“I’ll hear it,” Arthur allowed, his disapproval clear, but tempered by Merlin’s willingness to accept a just punishment.

“Most of the herbalists who tend the sick in Camelot’s outlying villages live across the border in other countries for a reason. My mother doesn’t cross the border all the time as some do. She stays in place so people know where she is, and people come to her regularly. Often they come long distances, since there is no one closer. There is only one fully trained physician in Camelot, and I mean the country not just the city, and he learned his craft before the purge. There are no younger physicians moving in to take up the business even though demand is very high,” Merlin explained.

“You are changing the subject,” Arthur accused. Merlin sat back and folded his hands on his lap.

“I’m really not. Many of the herbs and tools used in physician’s work are also used in magic, and people known to own such tools are often accused of sorcery when they either fail to save the sick or have some petty disagreement with a spiteful person. In those cases there is no way to prove they did not use magic beyond their word, there is no real culprit to catch, and unless the accuser backs down or the local leader stops it from coming to the capitol the herbalist or midwife will be found guilty and executed,” Merlin said, wishing he had enough breath in him to speak quickly without wheezing a little.

“If the claim was a farce my father would dismiss it,” Arthur snapped.

“You forget that there is hard evidence of sorcery in these cases, even though no spell was ever cast. To my knowledge, and Gaius warned me of this himself, the King has never found the accused innocent if they admit they own physician’s tools and grow a medicinal herb garden. Because those things can also be used in sorcery, they are evidence of sorcery, and the accused is guilty,” Merlin finished. Arthur frowned a little.

“Surely that is not accurate,” the prince denied.

“After I was made your servant I offered to pull up the flowers in the troth on the walkway leading to the infirmary tower and plant a proper herb garden for Gaius. Technically, that little patio area is part of his chambers and the flowers are his. There are times he needs things fresh and I’m busy serving you. I may have been shoved into books as often as possible, but I’m still a farm-grown son of an herbalist and could do it easily. I’m actually responsible for keeping the troth tidy so it’s not like it would be any additional work for me. That’s when he warned me about this: to explain why a Court Physician must gather his herbs wild from the greenwood instead of cultivating a steady supply close at hand. You do see how silly that is, don’t you? There is no special quality that they would lose if they were farmed in a garden instead of forest-grown.

“Even though I am at the very beginning of my training I am already in high demand whenever I have time to help Gaius, as he tends to the citadel first as Court Physician and the people of the lower town and nearby villages often have to make do while they wait their turn,” Merlin explained. “You can check all of this, and if you can tell me otherwise it would be of great benefit to the whole of Camelot. There are other people who treat the sick in the outer towns, but they do it under cover of darkness and fear for their lives. I’d gladly pass on the word that you have found legal precedent from after The Purge that their efforts are not unlawful and that they can replant their herb gardens nearer their homes instead of hiding them in the wood or relying only on wild plants.”

“Are you telling me you are a part of a secret conspiracy in place to get around my father’s law forbidding the possessions of sorcerer’s tools?” Arthur asked, flabbergasted.

“I’m telling you that I go to pick herbs for Gaius regularly, and I walk right past patches filled with a variety of herbs and no weeds in them. Most are careful not to plant them in straight lines, but it’s still downright obvious to anyone who has ever tended a field. I don’t think I even have to say this, but of course Gaius has one of his own,” Merlin sighed. “They can be used in medicine, some are even used to flavor food, and because they can be used in sorcery no one farms them in Camelot.”

“We should pull up the ones that can be used in sorcery,” Arthur declared. “You should have ripped them up and reported it to me as soon as you saw them.”

“Then you pull up the whole greenwood, and there will be no more medicine in Camelot until someone smuggles the herbs back in,” Merlin said, dragging his hand over his face. “I don’t mean that I’ve seen different plants with those traits, I’m saying that one plant can have all those traits. Sage is used for sore throats or to spice meat, but it can also be used in magic spells. It’s in a class of purifying herbs, and can be used to protect against curses and such even without magical preparation.”

“We could check them regularly, to ensure all the herbs have fully benign uses,” Arthur said less confidently.

“It’s not that black and white,” Merlin huffed, getting a bit angry. “It’s not about the tool, it’s about how it is used. What can set the body in balance can unbalance it. Every medicine is a poison if used wrongly and sage can also be used to set boundaries around an area before doing some truly black magic, as a protection for the caster only.”

“I can not allow the tools of magic to be grown under my watch. If it can be turned to evil purpose, it should be destroyed,” Arthur huffed. “There are alternative medicines that can be used, and the loss of a flavoring spice is not worth allowing evil to fester.” Merlin gaped at him.

“If every plant that might be turned to evil purpose should be destroyed, then you are going to be raising a lot of forests to barren ground and there will be no medicines at all,” Merlin spat back at him. “You are a better man than this, or I thought you were. Could you really condemn unknown numbers of your own subjects to death from sickness because a sorceress might walk by and steal a few herbs from the hidden gardens?”

“Don’t exaggerate, it would only be the plants that can be used in magic,” Arthur argued.

“That includes wheat!” Merlin shouted, then coughed wetly. He forced the rest of his thoughts out in a strained rush. “All berries, all trees, all flowers, all crops. Magic is the manipulation of the energy that already exists in nature. It’s power is life and comes from the elements. Literally everything that grows can be used by some spell somewhere. Yes, you could get a list of things that are more foul than fair, but frankly most farmers already know them as a blight on their land and get rid of them with all due malice. Some potent evil can come from weeds.”

“Food can be used in magic?” Arthur said, unbelieving. Merlin begged a moment to get his breathing back under control with a gesture, holding his hand to his aching chest.

“Everything can,” Merlin said with forced calm. “Everything that exists in nature contains elements, some more useful than others. They can be used in magic or in science many different ways. That’s part of why it’s so complicated. That’s why I’ve had to study so much, and why Gaius’ life’s work takes up so many thick volumes. To counter something like Valiant’s shield for example, to remove the illusion that hid the snakes in the shield and expose the spell, it takes picking out the right elements out of an infinite set of possibilities.”

“You admit you made it fail.” Arthur frowned at his plate, but seemed calmer than he had been a moment ago. “My father said it was hubris, Valiant’s spell betraying him as magic always betrays, because he faced a righteous opponent.” Merlin blinked in wonderment that Arthur had swallowed that.

“That is completely ridiculous, and rather rudely suggests all the other knights that faced him in combat are somehow lacking honor. Either you are more easily distracted by boot licking than I first thought - in which case you should be glad I respect you too much to try and use that against you and make up some palatable lie to cover all this - or he’s very badly informed. Things don’t just fall apart on their own unless they are worn down, that is as true of magic as it is for stone or iron, and Valiant was certainly not neglecting his equipment. Had you caused permanent damage to his shield, maybe, but just scratching some paint off clearly wasn’t an issue.”

“Merlin,” Arthur warned. “How did you do it?”

“I couldn’t oil your sword as King Bayard suggested, you or my replacement would notice,” Merlin spun the lie Gaius had prepared. “Herbs and oils in your gloves or elsewhere on your armor would either be too fragrant, too obvious, ruin it, or else in a place unlikely to be transferred. So, I matched him, shield for shield. I gambled no one would care overmuch if the paint on your shield looked lumpy or thick given that it was repainted in a hurry after each day of the tournament, and that I could clean it off later. When his sword struck it, or when you crashed together, the necessary elements were released. It…” Merlin broke off, the lies strangling him. This was so much worse than hiding. Arthur made to eat more of his breakfast, bumping the glass of water Merlin had poured for himself a little less than casually. Merlin took it up and was grateful Arthur wasn’t calling him on being emotional.

“It is hard to talk openly after hiding this my whole life,” Merlin admitted, gathering his courage to try again. “I could not get near Valiant’s shield, and he would be sure to kill you because he’d been embarrassed. Understand, this is not something I could have instructed someone else to do. I could not have written the answer on a scrap of paper and had someone else prepare it who didn’t know what they were doing. I had to want to protect you to make it work and to act on that deliberately, most of everything I can do with my gift comes down to willpower and intent. I was up all night, first figuring it out and then making it work. If you had seen me at it, if anyone had…”

“They would take it as sorcery,” Arthur provided.

“Or mistake it for prayer if I was very lucky, or insanity if I wasn’t, and they’d have hauled me off in any case with the job unfinished resulting in your almost certain death. I was born with this, Arthur. There are other such gifts. Sometimes a child is born with far-sight, life-sharing, or with some other peculiar talent that would condemn them to execution from their first breath. Would you see an infant burned on a pyre? At what point does an innocent child with no choice in their inborn ability cross the line and become guilty of a crime worth execution? I’m not a sorcerer, but only because I’m technically something else. Sorcerers get all of their ability from study and have no inborn magic in them, and are more or less powerful due to their dedication to training like with any other learned craft. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t go looking for it because I wanted to be powerful. If anything, I’ve spent more time and effort suppressing it, and that is part of why I came to Gaius,” Merlin explained. “It’s also part of why I have the education I do, so I know right and wrong and can understand myself enough to control my talents.”

“It is good you fight for control, rather than letting it rule you,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “You said you could do things since before you could speak, but surely there is not so much magic in Essetir that you were exposed to it often?”

“Magic is energy. Energy is in all things,” Merlin began. He opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. Fidgeted with his cup. “I can see things. Things other people can’t.”

“Like what?” Arthur asked. “Did the shield glow to your eyes?”

“No, but you do,” Merlin admitted. Arthur startled. “Not all the time, but when you are… You shine like the sun when you are at your best. When you are giving an inspiring speech to the knights on the green. It’s part of why I got so loyal to you so quickly, I suppose. I don’t have to trust in tradition to defer to you, I just have to concentrate properly and I can see as clearly as anything else that you have a good heart and will one day be the finest King the land has known.”

“You can see… what? My soul?” Arthur wondered.

“I don’t exactly know what I see when I look at people, and it’s far less useful than you might imagine,” Merlin shrugged. “Downright distracting in fact. It’s not exactly sight either, it doesn’t affect my ability to see things normally, and it’s more of a feeling or a scent in the air much of the time. I suppose you could say that it’s the state of your soul, but just the side of you on display as your whole soul wouldn’t change so rapidly. At least I sincerely hope not. It really depends on what you are doing. When I met you that first day you were being a bully. I could see it, and I could see it in those around you. Not the content of their private thoughts or emotions, just that they were negative. You were dark, spoiled like stagnant water, and knight or not you didn’t deserve anyone’s respect in that moment. Later, away from that crowd of bootlickers, you were flowing again and it was just the surface that was dim, and I saw you were bright within.” Arthur was quiet for a moment, taking that in.

“How did you deal with Lady Helen’s impostor?” he asked directly.

“Time,” Merlin coughed out the word, forcing himself to speak. He took a deep breath back in and tried again, having a bit more success. “It was in the spell, to sleep forever in death, but I saw its power and blocked it out. Don’t look at me like that, I mean I plugged my ears. Anyone could have done that. The cobwebs gave it away. I… used it. Aged the chain holding the chandelier until it broke. Like a parry and riposte.”

“Not the same as casting a spell, then,” Arthur prompted.

“I did not speak any spell. I just pushed, from my heart. That’s how it works for me, willpower and intent. That does not mean it is a mundane action any more than leading an angry Prince through a gauntlet of scattered boxes and improvised traps isn’t fighting. You were armed with a weapon you knew well and I’d never touched a flail before. If I tried to use it I’d have been badly hurt, possibly lost an eye, but I stumbled my way through the market leaving a trail of obstacles,” Merlin explained carefully. That explanation of his abilities had come to him when he was half asleep, and it sounded infinitely more articulate in his head than it did out loud. Arthur just watched Merlin work himself up without reacting.

“It’s still fighting, it’s not peaceful or harmless, but it’s not malicious and doesn’t seek permanent injury. It’s just defense. I’m, I’m not a magical assassin, I’m not a healer, I’m just trying to do what’s right. I’m five years your junior, and ambitions aside I can’t really claim a trade yet. I can’t even call myself an apprentice properly since I’m busy being your servant and we haven’t made anything official. It’s not the most noble way to do things, I guess, to come at them sideways and take them apart one piece at a time instead of just asserting what is right through sheer force of will. It’s tedious and complicated and I’m not entirely sure I can live any other way. I can’t not do it, it’s part of how I think. It’s as natural to me as breathing, always has been. If it happened again I’d do the same thing, fold the magic back on her just as unthinking as I did the first time.”

“So it was a hateful reaction to foul magic, or were you not in control of your actions and moving on instinct, like a gag reflex?” Arthur finally saved Merlin from his babbling.

“Yes?” Merlin replied, honestly unsure. “I hadn’t thought about it in those terms. It was certainly foul enough to make me recoil on an instinctive level. I had to think to use the chandelier to kill her, but once did I don’t know if there was much difference or time between the thought and the doing, but then I…”

“Then?”

“I slowed time,” Merlin whispered. “It just happened. When she threw the dagger, time slowed and I was able to get to you and pull you out of it’s way. There was no thought in that, just instinctive action.”

“That is not magic,” Arthur scoffed. Merlin looked at him in clear disbelief. “That is the heat of battle. A duel or bandit attack can feel like it goes on for the whole day when it was less than a single candle mark. You saw a deadly blow coming, and the rest of us were still slow with sleep. You moved at normal speed, and only felt like time had slowed around you due to the rush of danger.”

“If you are sure,” Merlin said to his lap, shifting in the chair.

“I am sure that magic is an evil in the world,” Arthur said. For a moment - it stretched and Merlin wondered if he’d stopped time again without meaning to, except Arthur wasn’t reacting as if Merlin’s eyes had flashed gold- it felt like something was dying inside him. “You may have a good heart now, but it corrupts those it touches over time.”

“All power corrupts,” Merlin blurted out, but continued with building strength, his Father’s words spilling from his lips as surely as Uther’s were spilling from Arthur’s. “We must fight against that tide with every breath. We must resist the temptations of easy roads, fight the greed and negativity inside us until it submits to temperance. Quench the fires of passion before they can burn all we love and leave us alone, anchor-less, unable to resist the howling of anger or the pull of pride. The most dangerous creatures are intelligent, alone, wrapped in hateful reasons, answering to nothing and no one. In this way power seeds dangerous madness in an unguarded heart, breeding monsters from good men.” _If we make ourselves into monsters, or allow pity over circumstance to turn us to evil paths, we prove Uther right._ Merlin closed his mouth with a click; the last line of Father’s speech stayed locked firmly behind his teeth.

“Temperance, religious fervor, and a tendency for asceticism,” Arthur said thoughtfully. Merlin remained silent as long as he could, but that was only a span of seconds.

“There is a reason the Old Religion was so important to those with magic and those who understood it well, and it wasn’t just awe and respect for the power the high priests and priestesses held,” Merlin mumbled.

“It explains why someone with your skills and education would accept becoming a servant,” Arthur said, the ghost of good humor passing over his face before he fell back into whatever deep thought he was tangled up in.

“This whole conversation is already balanced on the knife’s edge of treason, why not try to dance on it?” Merlin wheezed out nervously, ignoring the deep frown that twisted Arthur’s face. “With knowledge of the Old Ways drummed out of Camelot, with the detailed lessons and warnings I began learning when I was too small to see over the top of this table fading with every year, then…?”

“What is there that holds those exposed against their will to magic back from it’s evil corruption?” Arthur cut him off and finished the thought, more harshly than Merlin would have done. “Surely those like you are not common.” It was said seriously, but Merlin couldn’t help himself.

“I’m not,” Merlin laughed openly, the first real chuckle he’d had since he’d woken from his fever. “I’m a rare and exotic creature, you ought to keep me on a leash and parade me about like a prized pet. Dress me in some salacious thing and put me on display, kneeling at your feet and performing tricks for you like that dwarf girl at the feast last week.” Arthur pinked a bit at the idea of going about with a boy on a leash.

“Don’t be obscene.”

“Seriously, then, a talent for magic can be inborn just as a knack for whittling wood. If someone like that is exposed to magical knowledge, they will naturally be curious about it the same as anyone else discovering they have a special skill. Someone with a more obvious gift than mine might study magic because they know they are already condemned, and why follow the law at all if no one would ever believe you innocent of a capital crime you did not choose to commit? Where are the teachers for those people? Who guides them to use their talents responsibly? Or, if having any such talent is evil, at what age do you execute them for something they can’t change about themselves? Why shouldn’t they discard the idea that all magic is the ultimate evil with no good uses when they discover that it can also do little things like a spell that dries laundry or mends broken pottery? When that happens, when they feel they have been lied to or have no hope of living peacefully, why shouldn’t they hate their king and think his laws unjust? Sometimes half of something is more dangerous than its whole. Think of half cooked food or imagine a knight without a code of honor, not just without the oaths but having never been taught how to live rightly in the first place.”

“I don’t need to imagine, there are enough tales of honorable knights who lost their way and did great acts of evil in the past,” Arthur admitted.

“I grew up with similar tales, though not only about knights,” Merlin said in counterpoint.

“There is no good reason to turn to evil; no excuse for breaking the law,” Arthur asserted.

“I’ll agree whole-heartedly to the first part of that, but remember what I said about the herb gardens and shortage of medical care. When the choice is between the death of a family member or bending the law in a way that doesn’t steal from or hurt anyone else, a lot of people take the risk. Look, I believe you are a good man, and that serving you is a part of my purpose. It’s the reason I have this ability, and that purpose will keep me on the proper path. However, because of my ability to see things that aren’t technically there, following _anything_ that I see with blind trust is one of the things I was warned off of as soon as I could understand the concept. I was taught doubt; you were taught confidence,” Merlin spread out his hands as he spoke, indicating two opposing forces. “Talking like this, it’s hard and we come from vastly different backgrounds, but talking to you forces me to think critically about my lessons and question my opinions. I have to, in order to explain them in detail in a way that makes sense instead of just saying ‘I was taught these things are right and those things are wrong.’ That’s simple enough for small children or those who all received the same lessons as children, but adults need a deeper understanding than that to truly understand what is good and right.”

“You find fault in my conviction, because my opinions are too strong?” Arthur asked, affronted. “If your values differ from mine, you should correct them if you wish to serve me, as they clearly come from a foreign nation or the sway of magic.”

“I don’t think our core values differ at all, and I don’t think your confidence is a fault: I know you aren’t an always an arrogant ass, it’s just sometimes you act like one for some reason I’m sure I would find completely unacceptable even if I understood it. Same for how I’m not an idiot, but it’s a lot of work to explain how I think about things and I’ve spent my life surrounded by people who don’t have the same level or type of education. More often than not I can’t be bothered to try and I’m sure you disapprove of that lazy part of me. I’m saying we approach things from opposite sides. I don’t think we actually disagree on much. Not in broad strokes. I don’t think your definition of evil and mine are different, you simply work with ideals and the bigger concerns of a whole nation while I work in smaller terms where details and the need to survive when there are no good choices make things messy. I want to be contradicted when you think I’m in the wrong, I want to be corrected when I don’t have all the facts, and I have the feeling you have sometimes wanted or needed the same, but didn’t have anyone willing or able to give it to you,” Merlin said. “If you really hated the insolent and challenging way I talk to you, you’d have sacked me properly the first week.”

“Having actually let you speak your nonsense until you made yourself hoarse, you almost sound wise,” Arthur huffed. “In select moments only. I think I’m still having a hard time believing that talents like yours exist and could be inborn in the first place. I found several references to such things in the library, but I have always been told that turning to sorcery is a choice, and some of the descriptions sound like magical creatures instead of people.”

“If thinking of me as not fully human helps you understand what I am, then I can accept the temporary insult as long as you try your hardest to get beyond it swiftly. There are… There are other creatures of magic with as much wit and depth of feeling as humans, ones that you can look at and see that they are not human, who feel the same loss at the death of family and joy in simple pleasures as we can.” They lapsed into a long silence, picking at the food for want of something to do. Merlin wasn’t sure how long they had been talking, and even if his morning was his own Arthur would have duties in the afternoon.

“Are you?” Arthur asked when he’d worked through whatever was going through his head, giving Merlin a critical look.

“Am I what?”

“Not fully human?”

“My mother is completely human, as far as I know.”

“That isn’t a no,” Arthur pointed out.

“If you took my water cup and put a drop of wine in it, would you call it a cup of wine or a cup of water? I’m offering that mindset to you as a temporary shortcut even though it is insulting, to help you in case you can’t understand it any other way. And before you get the wrong idea about purity, a fair number of the high born families have some thaumaturgical origin to them. I don’t know for certain about your bloodline, but the chances are high there is some legend to your bloodline.”

“Thauma… what?”

“Thaumaturgical is a broad term for all mystical and legendary things: magically inclined species, items, spells, unexplained coincidences, miraculous happenings and the like. It includes non-magical yet fantastic coincidence and slight of hand as well,” Merlin defined. “Someone who does such things is a Thaumaturge, but the term is too broad to get much use since The Purge because it includes too many non-magical categories and therefore isn’t useful in legal or formal settings anymore.”

“You made that up,” Arthur challenged.

“It’s a real word.”

“There is no way that is a real word.”

“If you don’t trust my explanations, you will just have to spend some more time in the library looking these things up for yourself,” Merlin pouted.

“I will, but as my servant I expect you to offer me useful information instead of babbling nonsense words at me,” Arthur asserted. Merlin sat back, taking in the fact that the trust Arthur had in him after Valiant had been badly shaken, but not destroyed.

“I meant what I said before, my loyalty is yours. It’s a messy and complicated ball of half-inherited duty, not to mention something we specifically agreed not to talk directly about, but Gaius is not the only elder of my family sworn to your bloodline. Fuck Bayard for… for making me think about it and ruining what little rest I have been getting the last couple days,” Merlin spit out. He’d done well not to get very angry or do anything overtly aggressive, but he was frustrated and the meddlesome King seemed like a safe target, at least. The knights cursed enough during regular practice that he didn’t expect Arthur to take offense at the language. He closed his eyes and breathed, forcing himself back to some semblance of calm.

“Was any of what he said about that subject true?” Arthur asked quietly.

“It was close enough to the truth to hurt me badly, and far enough afield to be a farce,” Merlin said, blowing out the deep breath he’d taken. “It would break our agreement both ways to explain fully, and most of that is older than either of us, but my duty and debt to you is _not_ conflicted. We’ve each saved the other’s life while doing something that endangered our own, and that binds us together in a way I’m certain you understand even if you won’t think of it in magical terms.” Arthur seemed ready to press him for details and then he suddenly sat back and gave Merlin a very critical once-over.

“Do negative emotions,” Arthur seemed a bit at sea, his hands waving about as he tried to express something well outside his education and experience. “Did you insist on that bargain because if you get very angry or, and not just over time, but… The things you said about temperance, it’s not just asceticism. It’s this too, you are trying very hard to avoid getting angry even when you have a right to be.”

“Well, yes, though I’d think most people don’t like being angry enough to lose control of their words and actions. If I got worked up enough into a fit, then I’d be having a fit, and that embarrasses children as young as three winters. I’m not completely certain what my limits are,” Merlin tripped over his words. “I’d rather not find out how much damage I can do by lashing out with my talents in a huff when I’m not in mortal peril.”

“I’ve seen you irritated. It’s like looking at a growling puppy.” Arthur cut him off, but then asked seriously: “You say you fear you might lash out if you get emotional, but have you ever actually hurt a person with your abilities without meaning to?”

“Never.” An old woman falling back into her own spell, the spindle slicing into her neck as yellow magic like bile tangled on the spinning wheel and pulled at her hair. His Father stabbing his sword through the unmoving chests of the the party who attacked him, trying to convince Merlin he’d only stunned them and none of it was his fault before he left for a final time. The Chandelier falling on the fake Lady Helen, and the crunch of her bones. No, never by accident.

“Then that’s all I needed to know,” Arthur said. “For now. I suppose now It’s my turn to talk myself hoarse. I’m still going to think about this. Sorcery is illegal in Camelot. You are not evil, but you aren’t exactly normal either. Keeping you where I can see you will have to serve as precaution. I have not made a final decision as to what to do with you, but it is ridiculous to sack you for being too loyal to run from my judgment and you haven’t done anything worth the headsman. I will keep this from my father as well, due to the suspicions about your heritage. I asked some of the older members of the court about Bayard’s accusations against him, specifically about how he handled his friends while he was grieving, and I did not like the quality of the answers I got. They would not speak against him, but nor did they react with shock or indignation at the insult as I’d expect they would if it was baseless. I will not see someone executed for a crime their father may or may not have actually committed years before they were even born.”

“I wish I could know it was safe to relax and put my travel bag back on a high shelf, but still. Thank you, for thinking about it first, even if in the end you tell me to leave or face execution, and for taking this seriously. A lot of people have just pretended it isn’t real, or insist I don’t speak with them ever again,” Merlin said with a sad smile.

“You’re not completely useless, and I owe you my life,” Arthur dismissed.

“I owe you my life also, and where there is magic involved that isn’t a debt that can be fully repaid. There is ritual to it, or there used to be, and I’m bound to your service for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll… I’ll warn you of magical danger, just as I did with Valiant. I promise. Or if you ask me things about what I know. I’ll offer up anything you want to know that I can explain, but I’ve only known you a little more than a month. I’m used to keeping everything a secret outside of family, so it might take me a while to get used to having someone to report to, but I swear I will try. Even if it’s just that I need time to go somewhere and have a snit, or if I get sad enough to make myself ill,” Merlin assured.

“Sadness can make you sick?”

“I don’t care how thorough the suppression of magical knowledge has been, you must have heard of dying of a broken heart before. Self harm kills people with inborn talents fairly often in the histories, and suicide used to be one of the most common reasons for death among those with magic who were nearing their coming of age,” Merlin said and swallowed thickly. They broke eye contact abruptly, pretending they had not just been talking about feelings.

“I knew you were a girl, all wrapped up in emotions and smelling of flowery herbs.”

“I knew you were a prat, wrapped up in your own ego and stinking of sweat.” Their eyes met again, that issue settled.

“I found a mention of Gaius from before the ban. Just one, which reeks of censorship for a man I know has been in my family’s service since my father was a boy. He was listed as a healer six, but I couldn’t find a reference for what that means,” Arthur mused.

“The number indicates he was registered with a guild of healers and had a mark like any fine tradesmen,” Merlin supplied. Arthur nodded along. “My mother was a grade ten, lowest on the ranks, because she can’t actually cast magic herself. She doesn’t have the capacity for it, but she knows how to tend the sick without it and they used to treat physicians and healers the same. A ten was still considered a student, but more than a novice and technically able to sell her services. Ten isn’t high enough in the ranks to formally take a student, the cut off for that is a seven, so I couldn’t call myself a physician if I only trained under her.” A bell rang in the distance, they’d been talking for hours.

“Would you rank?” Arthur asked as he stood up from the table. Merlin knew he’d all but confessed outright to healing Tom, but had hoped he could dance around it. Merlin chose to answer honestly, as he was exhausted and there didn’t seem much point.

“I’ve never been tested that way, but I probably wouldn’t rank above novice,” Merlin shrugged, standing as well. “The things I can do I find easy even if some of them are rather advanced, but I don’t have enough variety of knowledge to make a grade. My world has been small, my mother taught me the basics of growing and using the herbs in her garden, and I only started to study proper medicine from her after I turned thirteen. I can only claim to know the base theory and the ideas behind it. I was really lucky with Tom, I got it right on the first try, but then it wasn’t actually that complicated. That should have been a red flag, there is no way Gaius couldn’t figure out the same thing. I just didn’t understand why he wouldn’t try. I never imagined the King’s reaction, I was just trying to get rid of the plague the only way I knew how. All I can do is keep learning.”

“Are you abandoning healing for physicians work, or does studying medicine fit into your talent?” Arthur asked casually as Merlin helped him into his jacket.

“That’s actually a really hard question,” Merlin said as he turned to clear away the remains of breakfast, his hands shaking. “If I’d known what healing one man would do beforehand I might have tried doing something to the pump even though that would have been much harder, but I don’t think I could have done nothing. What King Bayard said was horrific because it was true, it was torture to watch and do nothing and worse after I nearly got Gwen killed. Arthur, I could have made dozens of those poultices in a day if I’d been set to the task without interruption and I was planning to do exactly that, but I’d just got the chance to ask Gwen about her father when she was arrested. I’d planned to ask for the resources to buy or gather the materials I needed once I knew it worked.”

“I didn’t fully understand father’s reaction, either,” Arthur admitted. “I understand yours better, but not fully. The immediate confession was noble. You could have spoken to me in private that day, instead of waiting for someone to out you as you have. Why?”

“There was an execution in the square the day I arrived here to teach me to fear exposure, and I wasn’t sure if you actually believed what you said about me to save me from the headsman. The second half of your question is easier to answer on it’s own: Physician’s work does fit into my talent, because if I can’t understand what I see I can’t do anything about it. Listening to a song sung in an unknown language might convey some emotion or suggestion of meaning, but you’d have to translate the words to make proper sense of it. It’s one of those places where, the closer you look at something the harder it is to see where one part ends and the other begins. The methods and thought processes physicians use are just as useful for understanding magic in broad terms, and more specifically what healers and physicians do is identical in both goal and method a lot of the time. There is the curing of the sick using herbs, but sometimes there is no incantation even in very blatantly magical acts and sometimes there is no magic and people are just praying. If someone is praying in the old tongue and it works is that a spell?”

“That would be god’s grace,” Arthur said definitively, running a comb through his hair.

“Someone had to write the spells for the first time, and the skilled or lucky can make up spells as they go along then write down what they did after the fact to share. All the healing spells I’ve had contact with include some appeal to the divine, either via symbolism in their structure or through direct entreaty,” Merlin countered.

“Healing magic really is a pious thing in your eyes, when done right,” Arthur said carefully.

“If you ever see a healer or a clergyman covered in shining silks and glittering jewels, worry,” Merlin advised, grabbing the broom to start in on the layer of filth that had built up on the floor. “Personally, I worry about the motivations of anyone that has to cover themselves in exorbitant amounts of finery. Who ever needs that much stuff hanging off them?”

“You are not a sorcerer,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin properly again, but it was a question.

“The technical term is warlock,” Merlin hazarded, then clarified when Arthur gave him a look. “That’s for any male with any kind of inborn magic or special ability, no matter how much magical potential they have. Witch is the feminine, though that word gets misused a lot by the uneducated to include sorceresses with no natural gifts that gain great skill. Be that through honest hard work or some distasteful ritual, well, people only tend to tell exciting stories. No one wants to tell tales of a gifted green thumb gallantly reading books for four hours and then decisively adding an extra half-measure of powdered Rue to something. That said, those who have routinely sent herbalists and children under ten to their deaths over the last twenty years neither see nor care to understand the difference.”

“You really do trust that I won’t kill you unless you cause harm,” Arthur said, looking for all the world as if he didn’t understand why he wasn’t having Merlin hauled off to the dungeons as he watched Merlin sweeping. The prince ought to leave or he’d be late to his duties.

“I wish I did. I’d sleep better. I’m worried that your anger is too repressed by shock and you’ll kill me when you snap out of it, or that you are only saving face and waiting for me to do something worth being rid of me since you just risked your life to save mine rather dramatically. You are my destiny, it seems, and if you want to kill me then that’s how it is,” Merlin muttered as he swept, having depressed himself completely.

“Destiny?” Arthur asked, suddenly wary.

“To protect you, it’s what I’m for. At least that’s what all the signs point to. It’s not like I have much say in it, you know. I’d have rather picked someone who wasn’t such a spoiled brat, and in a place that wouldn’t kill me for breathing. I was born for this, though, so what can you do?” Merlin shrugged.

“You knew that before you came to Camelot?” Arthur asked.

“If I told you a noble magical creature of great power woke me up in the middle of the night by speaking to me in my head and led me down to a secret cave under the citadel to inflict frustratingly cryptic advice and prophetic knowledge on me, what would you say?” Merlin asked.

“That you inhaled too many of Gaius’ more potent herbs immediately before bed,” Arthur deadpanned.

“Then it came to me in a dream the night before I saved your life the first time,” Merlin shrugged. “That was only premonition, though, and not worth risking my neck trying to get you to understand me. Now, because I saved your life drinking poison in your place and you quested for my cure through mortal danger, I’m properly bound to your service through a trading of life debts. It’s an ancient bonding magic, and the original inspiration for oaths of fealty as I understand the history. That’s how I see my position, and if you ever see me turn to evil, then I will accept your judgment as any knight under your command would.” Arthur finally turned to leave. When the door was closed and the sound of footsteps gone Merlin let the broom finish sweeping on it’s own and mumbled another spell to make the bed while he picked up the rest of the breakfast mess. As soon as he took the tray back down to the kitchen he was going back to bed until dinner. The steward still had others handling the bulk of Arthur’s needs, and he’d need to be rested if Arthur changed his mind and scheduled him an execution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the problems with writing a series for TV is also seen a lot in fanfiction that is posted as a WIP, and that is the ever-present danger of writing yourself into a corner. I think some of what went 'wrong' and disappointed so many people about Merlin is that they wanted to keep the suspense of Arthur not knowing about Merlin's magic. They played it safe, worried that the audience might lose interest if they removed that primary point of tension, and it went on for way too long. I don't know if the decision to keep their powder dry for so long on that revel came from the executives or if they were intending to write a tragedy from the beginning, but it comes off as something they ended up writing around. They hit that heart-wrenching beat of Arthur telling Merlin that all magic was evil a few too many times, and everyone in Camelot comes off as rather dull-witted and willfully blind for not realizing what Merlin is when other sorcerers are identified rather quickly on a regular basis. It got to the point where the only way things could really play out, with how Arthur felt and with how long Merlin had been lying to him, was for it to be a deathbed confession. They made Merlin's internal conflict into a shark by the end of series 3, and then they jumped it. As for exactly when/how they did so - there are whole novels worth written in various forums debating exactly what episode the show turned that corner.
> 
> Now, it was well done. They jumped that shark with style and grace, but they could have let the thing go. Just move on to the next, obvious, heavily foreshadowed bit of conflict. The conflict we never really got to see: Arthur creating the golden age of Camelot. Conquering all of Albion and installing himself as a high king doesn't happen either. The whole show is about Prince Arthur, and the hero of legend never really has the chance to shine. The show opts out of the whole thing: speeds over things getting better for the common people now that the tyrant Uther is dead in a time-lapse between seasons and Arthur never repeals the ban on magic. He's still in his father's shadow and upholding his father's ideals 99% of the time. We get a weak-sauce shadow of what that plotline would have been like via Agrivane. Going back and watching the first series, there is a nice little outline set up in the excellent foreshadowing that sets up the expectations of the audience for how things will play out. Subverting some of that is fine, everyone likes a good twist once in a while, but holy smokes did they throw the baby out with the bathwater and turn a charming story into one of the most gut-wrenching tragedies on TV at the time. The show is an object lesson in self-fulfilling prophecies wrapped around that old adage 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions.' I'm certain it created a kleenex shortage in some small towns. As blindsided as Merlin was at how his actions prevented the time of Albion from coming, I think the writers of the show felt similarly. They set up those dominos, and when they stepped back and looked at what they did at the end of Series Four it was clear it could only fall one way.
> 
> I can't give them the excuse of the show being canceled before the writers were ready because they advanced time in the plot and clearly could have moved on, but they chose to hold on to this one thing that ended up ruining everything. (No, I didn't look it up, it's self-evident that they screwed this without being cut off at the knee.)
> 
> TL;DR: The story the audience is promised in Series One never happens. We get a ton of build up and then Arthur just dies.


	7. Lancelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur needs Merlin to use his magic to defeat a terrible beast. They fumble through.

On the one hand, Merlin shouldn’t have panicked like a little girl. Father would have thumped him with his copy of Mimir’s Magical Menagerie if he’d seen how useless he’d acted. On the other hand, Griffins were deadly to most anything that pissed them off. Merlin was able to stop Lancelot’s wound from bleeding, but couldn’t do more than watch and wait. The griffin flew off with the man’s pack, probably scenting whatever lunch the man had on him. The long wait for the older man to wake up and gather the strength to stand had Merlin’s neck in a crick from watching the sky.

Merlin himself was unhurt, but was still having dizzy spells from time to time from the poison. After two weeks of light duty he was back to his usual chores, though he suspected Arthur’s sudden disinterest in going hunting on the weekends had something to do with Merlin not being up to running through the forest with a full pack of gear on his back. He’d tried to meditate as father taught him back when he was young enough to cry over little things and his magic kicked up dust storms in sympathy. He hoped that by calming down before bed he’d reduce his dreams and get some more restful sleep. Instead, he discovered that some of the black magic Nimueh used to enhance the poison was still in his system, sticking like pine sap to his innards and making him purge forcefully at both ends when he instinctively tried to get rid of it using his own magic. Gaius was giving him a weak herbal tea to help, but there wasn’t much they could do other than wait for his body and magic to naturally, and _gradually,_ finish expelling the toxin.

Arthur still hadn’t made a final decision about what to do about Merlin’s talents, but there had been some permanent changes. Merlin’s regular schedule now included an hour of uninterrupted study with Gaius or in the library immediately after lunch two days a week. Arthur had been on the other end of the table the first two days, checking up on what Merlin was reading while fraying Merlin’s psyche by trying to look up Lord Balinor Ambrosius and histories related to his kin. Merlin was also officially recognized as Gaius’ assistant and had one day a week where he only saw to Arthur’s breakfast and dinner so he could focus on those responsibilities during the rest of the day. Once last week Arthur had him make three copies of a letter of invitation Arthur needed to send out to different noble houses, as all ‘tedious and brainless tasks’ fell into a servant’s purview. After Arthur spent a good five minutes fruitlessly checking for errors or unacceptable penmanship, Merlin expected it would happen again. It was a bit frustrating to be treated like he was so fragile, but he could admit he needed it and cramping his hand was better than hauling buckets of bathwater when he was still a little winded when climbing that many stairs all at once with only the weight of his own clothes holding him down.

It was after dark when they stumbled into the infirmary. Lancelot’s passion for being a knight was infectious, and Merlin owed the man his life. Lancelot certainly had the skill and the bravery necessary. Arthur had been complaining since before Merlin came to Camelot about the quality of men that showed up to become knights. The prince had just had another potential knight fail their trial that afternoon. It seemed like providence.

“I might know someone,” Merlin offered when the now-predictable rant started up the next morning.

“You know someone who could make a knight?” Arthur asked incredulously. Merlin sat down in the chair by the window, folding clothes from the basket he’d left there. He didn’t need to sit to catch his breath as often anymore, but it was becoming a habit to sit and do some simple chore in the corner. He could only do it while Arthur was sitting at his table or desk doing something where Merlin hovering or flitting around the room talking with his back to the prince would be irritating. To sit while his master stood was a touch more disrespectful than Arthur would tolerate now that Merlin was properly back to work. Having other servants taking care of some of the more labor-intensive chores for a couple weeks also meant that Merlin was often doing some small things in Arthur’s front room while the Prince was there instead of hauling it down the stairs and back to do in the privacy of his room where he could use magic to do it and steal an hour of study with his magic book. The drop in the quality and speed of his work due to the lack of magic had been noticed and attributed to the severity of Merlin’s lingering illness. The proximity had them talking a lot more, and about practically everything.

“I was attacked by a griffin in the forest while I was gathering mushrooms for Gaius yesterday. It was a long walk out past Willowdale, and I guess it was further than I should have gone. I didn’t even notice until it was almost too late. I hate still being so… anyway. There was a man on his way here to become a knight who happened to be close enough to hear the griffin screech. He struck it and we bolted. That got us to safety even though it smashed his sword. He was struck by one of the shards of his sword, but in a couple days he’ll be fit to begin,” Merlin explained.

“I’ve had enough pampered idiots who can’t take care of their own equipment,” Arthur groaned.

“I don’t think it was Lancelot’s fault his sword broke, it was a griffin after all and they are nasty business. The beak on one of those could crack stone easily. It made off with his bag, to eat whatever provisions he had on him I expect, which was lucky,” Merlin shrugged. “Not much I could have done against it, and Lancelot passed out from the blood loss for a while. After I tended the wound he was well enough to walk back with me, though we must have been a sight leaning on one another coming up through the gates.”

“Lance-a-lot?” Arthur chuckled.

“See him fight before you make fun,” Merlin grinned back. It was a bit silly as names go, but he’d heard worse.

“What is a griffin, anyway?” Arthur asked, suddenly serious. “Is it a danger to the outer towns, or just idiot servants?”

“Oh, they are not normally a nuisance, though someone might want to put a warning up. I’m honestly shocked it came after me. They are magical beasts, about as intelligent as a mundane bird of prey and with the same general mindset, so they only go after humans when they feel threatened. They look like an eagle on front and a lion at the back. They mostly eat fish and lizards, preferring cold-blooded food, but they will take foxes and even sheep if they can’t find something they like better. They are deadly, though, and difficult to kill almost of the same order as a dragon, so it’s best to leave them alone,” Merlin recited.

“Not normally a nuisance, but almost of the same order as a dragon,” Arthur said slowly.

“Well, dragons aren’t normally a nuisance to people either, particularly if you talk to them politely.

“Dragons could talk?” Arthur interrupted. “You’re having me on.”

“Of course they do, though their love of metaphor and riddles makes it a bit difficult to understand them sometimes. I know you were looking up Dragon Lords.”

“When was I doing that?”

“Lord Ambrosius,” Merlin supplied. “You didn’t find out what he did in the war to conquer Camelot?”

“No. It’s all sealed,” Arthur grumbled. “There are no detailed accounts, just some half-censored bard’s songs and the sort of histories fit for a very young boy. Bedtime stories, as you called them.”

“He rode a dragon into battle alongside your father’s army,” Merlin said.

“Bullshit.”

“The Great Dragon on your father's and grandfather's coat of arms was put there because your grandfather was a patron of the Dragon Lords and welcomed them on his lands and in his court back when the Pendragon domain was smaller. It is part of how your family rose to power.”

“He is there because my father lured the Great Dragon into a cave and slew him during the purge of magic.”

“So King Uther changed his coat of arms to a single color and symbol that had nothing to do with his family history more than ten years _after_ he took Camelot?” Merlin asked pointedly. Arthur blinked at the obvious contradiction. Uther’s editing of the histories was obvious to someone like Merlin who was educated outside Camelot’s influence, and Arthur kept running headlong into the holes in the propaganda since he started trying to figure out how much of what King Bayard said was true. Twenty years of revisionist history enforced by brutal methods had made a strong impact on what people believed was fact, but only where Uther’s word was unquestioned law and when people didn’t stop and think too hard about it. There were plenty of inconsistencies if you bothered to look, and Merlin enjoyed the feeling of victory he got when finding and exposing them. Arthur enjoyed that particular feeling of discovery far less.

“That is…” Arthur frowned down at the papers he was going through. “Tell me more about this creature that attacked you.”

“If I remember correctly griffins normally nest in caves and outcrops on cliffs, but normally isn’t always. They can’t spit fire or anything like that and aren’t terribly intelligent as magical creatures go, but they are very agile and their feathers are like hardened steel. I’m not just talking about the color, either. Lancelot’s sword snapped because it was just your average sword up against something akin to a wall made of plate mail. I’m not sure how much strength you’d need to punch through that. An adult griffin can tear through an armored knight like an eagle through a mouse,” Merlin warned. “It should go away before the frost, back to steeper cliffs in more remote areas where it will be more at home.”

“What would you do against one, if you had all your strength back?”

“Run.”

“If you were a knight instead of a baby?” Arthur teased.

“Run faster,” Merlin laughed, thinking of how much Arthur loved to talk about trophy hunting with the courtiers. “There is no way you could hurt it, Arthur, and they fly more than they walk. I only saw one, but that class of magical creature is known to gather in flocks. You don’t want to hunt this thing, you wouldn’t be able to. You can’t stab it with your sword because it would shatter; you can’t shoot it with your crossbow because it would bounce off.”

“What about, you know, your talent? It there some blessed oil you could put on my blade to make it less mundane?” Arthur asked.

“I… Arthur, no. I can’t kill a griffin. What you are suggesting is battle magic - full stop. High magic at that, to damage something that well armored, and well beyond anything I’ve ever done. Your asking me to learn to do something both violent and blatantly illegal.” Merlin scrubbed at his face with a hand. “I could light up the forest with fairy lights so we get a really good look at your attacks bouncing harmlessly off it’s feathers before it tears us to shreds over the insult,” Merlin snarked.

“Fairy lights?” Merlin answered Arthur’s question by lifting his hand and tossing a gently glowing blue orb at him. The prat’s extremely disturbed reaction to the bubble of magic floating harmlessly over his table was completely unwarranted, and Merlin popped it with dramatic sparkles.

“I used to make them when I was scared at night, as a kid,” Merlin admitted. “Still do, sometimes, when I have a particularly bad nightmare. What was it you compared me to, a harmless puppy?” Merlin sighed gustily and sat back at the look he was getting. “I’m not being a coward, Arthur, I just don’t see the need to get us both killed hunting down a beast that could take out a squad of knights with minimal effort. Not when it will move on as soon as whatever has it so far from where it belongs is sorted. I’d guess a wounded fledgling, but that’s a stab in the dark and I can’t actually remember how they treat their young. It’s been a good while since I read through that book, and the last time I picked it up was more for pleasure than study. It is really odd that it attacked me, but something like that would explain it.”

“Odd because you are also a creature of magic?” Arthur asked quietly.

“Gods, no. I’m only named after a bird, not kin to them. It’s just, I was bent down to pick mushrooms. I wasn’t making a lot of noise or acting aggressively. It must have been in a right state to take me for a threat, even if I had wandered too close to something it was protecting,” Merlin thought out loud. “Actually, I sort of remember them being native to the land south across the sea, though that might have been another half-eagle. There are actually quite a few creatures in that classification. I’ll see if Gaius or Sir Geoffrey have anything about griffins when I have my study hour today. There might be something I’m forgetting.”

“You’ll take the full day for it,” Arthur corrected. “There were reports of a man-eater that attacked Greenswood village. I’d like to know if it is this griffin or… something that could spook a creature well armored enough to shatter swords,” Arthur informed him, trying to cover his nervousness by folding his arms.

“Oh… ah. That’s not good,” Merlin said stupidly. “I might, you know, not be completely useless if I have that much time to work with, perhaps some kind of ward to prod it to leave. Though it would just attack somewhere else if it has gained a taste for human flesh, so it probably should be killed. Even just trying to learn how would be… . I don’t even know if I could, since the poison. The most violent thing I’m in the habit of doing is felling trees for firewood.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin,” Arthur scoffed, standing up and putting his gloves on. He was already dressed for the morning, so Merlin stood and took the folded clothes to the wardrobe. “I’m not going to make you fight it. Just find out if the thing has some exploitable weakness or soft spot. It can’t be completely impervious. Strength and sinew will win the day.”

“Right,” Merlin nodded, head bent to his task.

“And Merlin,” Arthur asked. Merlin looked up at Arthur’s impassive face. “You fell trees with an axe?”

“No, axes are expensive,” Merlin answered.

“Would that work on a man?”

“No?”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“I’ve never tried. Maybe, probably not since I’m not hacking it down so much as asking it to fall apart.”

“You ask trees to fall into pieces and they do?”

“I ask assertively, and if they don’t feel like falling over I get all the weak or low branches they don’t really need.”

“I regret asking,” Arthur muttered and left Merlin to his tasks.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

The first code of Camelot was a load of paranoid nonsense in Merlin’s opinion, but this was King Uther they were talking about so of course he was a cagey elitist. Gaius dropped the news on them immediately after they met with Gwen to get Lancelot kitted out. He’d used his lunch break for the visit with Gwen, and now he’d gone without a meal for no good reason. Gaius was always getting on Merlin for his eating habits, but if he wasn’t that hungry and had something to do then he’d just make it up at dinner. Merlin had the thought to copy out a fake seal while he was doing his other research. The plan was quickly discarded. He couldn’t risk Arthur coming to check on Merlin’s progress and catching him with something Lancelot should not have dared part with. Merlin was on thin enough ice having half-confessed to someone so ignorant of how magic worked he didn’t properly understand that a warlock was a type of sorcerer.

He didn’t find anything on griffins, and just enough about half-eagle creatures to realize he’d had the thing partially confused with a hippogriff. He knew there was something he had twisted. He told Arthur his mistake, clarifying that hippogriffs were more intelligent half-horses and not completely immune to mundane weaponry. Arthur sent him back to his regular duties, though it stung that he’d failed so completely at the first important and vaguely-magic-related thing Arthur had trusted him with. He didn’t mention that Lancelot was a commoner when Arthur asked Merlin to bring the man to the training grounds in the morning, but the prince hadn’t asked either. He did remind Arthur that Lancelot lost his pack in the woods, and explained that Gwen and her father loaned the man some equipment so he wouldn’t be expecting Lancelot to wear a coat of arms.

“What if you just didn’t know about the code?” Merlin asked Lancelot that evening. They had decided to take turns using the bed after Gaius told them to stop fighting about hospitality and graciousness before he made them both sleep on the floor, and tonight Lancelot had the bed. The poison was good for something after all, as he wasn’t moving things around the room at night with his magic busy working through the toxins.

“But I do know about it,” Lancelot replied, confused.

“Yes, but if Gaius hadn’t said anything this afternoon, you’d go down to the training grounds tomorrow,” Merlin pressed.

“It would be dishonest.”

“I’m not telling you to lie. It’s just, Arthur can’t find nobles good enough to be knights. If he doesn’t directly ask you, then just stay quiet. Let him judge you on the merits,” Merlin reasoned. “You just want to serve, and you are able, so take the chance.”

“I suppose it isn’t lying if I say nothing,” Lancelot allowed. “Won’t he be angry when he finds out?”

“We’ll have to tell him before you are knighted, the King would need to know who he was knighting an he’s _far_ too dangerous to cross. Arthur respects martial skill and bravery. I assumed you were qualified, and recommended you before I knew you weren’t noble. That’s the truth. Your village was on the outskirts of Northumbria, right?” Merlin asked.

“Yes.”

“Then introduce yourself as Lancelot of Northumbria. If anyone asks you a personal question, just say you’d rather focus on the task at hand for now. Unless they ask you directly about being a noble, of course.”

“I can do that,” Lancelot agreed.

“You’ll make the cut, you’re better than some of the fully trained knights as far as I’ve seen,” Merlin said emphatically. “If you are knighted or not will be up to how much Arthur is impressed, a matter of merit. I told him what you did in the forest, and he really does want you down at the training ground in the morning.”

“Then I will have to impress him,” Lancelot said, and that was that.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin knew Arthur well enough by now. Telling Lancelot to muck out the stables was a good sign. Gaius didn’t believe that Lancelot got a job in the stables any more than he believed there wasn’t magic involved. Merlin came clean and assured him that there was no magic involved despite having thought about using it. The physician then warned Merlin that if Arthur was having such a hard time finding good knights as Merlin thought he was, then Uther would find fault in Arthur’s standards before changing the code. Merlin hadn’t thought of that.

The next day was his day as Gaius’ assistant. He’d been grinding his way through a sack of dried fennel with the large mortar while reading about how it interacted with other reagents when the city bells rang. Willowdale had been attacked by the winged creature. Merlin was able to give Gaius a list of all the books that wouldn’t be useful thanks to his previous search. Gaius was a bit more understanding about the griffin/hippogriff confusion, though the word ‘griffin’ made him purse his lips in a way Merlin was beginning to recognize meant ‘I had that book ten years ago, but where did I put it?’

Arthur moved up Lancelot’s trial, and it was an exciting fight to the end. Gwen grabbed at Merlin a couple times as she watched. That was… not fine. Definitely not fine. No matter what polite thing he’d reflexively said when she apologized for grabbing him, he really hoped it would stop. It was perfectly fine that she hadn’t paid him any special attention since that first moment after she thought he’d died. Kissing him once didn’t entitle Merlin to another kiss, nor did it have to mean anything beyond being glad he didn’t die. He could be her friend. He’d been her friend with no problem practically from his first day in the city. If she did like him more, then he would happily kiss her again, and try out whatever came with that with honest curiosity. However, this stuck in the middle business where she half-flirted with him and sometimes held his hand or hugged him but would not let him reciprocate needed to end. He had no idea how to say that to her without sounding like a vindictive ass. He’d tried being really obtuse about it: asking her about what she thought of other men, gossiping about the various romances going on among the castle staff, and basically trying to prove through action that they were just friends. It really wasn’t working.

Thinking of vindictive asses, Arthur let Lancelot have a terrified moment where he was forced onto his knees and Arthur pointed his sword at his neck before declaring that he’d passed. Lancelot had earned his place through merit in a fair fight, but now they had to see if he’d earned it well enough to change a law. Lancelot walked over to Merlin and Gwen, looking triumphant.

“I did it!” Lancelot said as he returned the practice sword to it’s stand.

“You did,” Gwen giggled. Merlin twitched his arm away from where she was holding his wrist for courage and saw Arthur coming their way as well. When Lancelot stopped staring lovingly into Gwen’s eyes and looked at Merlin he gave Lancelot a curt nod as warning for what was about to happen. A gloved hand clapped the armor clad brunette on the shoulder, and Lancelot’s face fell.

“Fetch your seal of nobility to present to the King, and then you will be knighted this afternoon,” Arthur said easily, cutting off whatever else he was going to say when he caught the grave look on Merlin’s face. Merlin silently bent to task, taking the Prince’s practice sword from his waist and putting it back in the stand.

“I have none, sire,” Lancelot said with a bow. “I did not know of the First Code when I came to Camelot.”

“What?” Arthur barked, swatting Merlin away from his job. “Merlin.”

“He didn’t tell me he wasn’t noble until after I told you about him,” Merlin defended himself. “Besides, no one has passed their trial in the last year.”

“And you didn’t tell me as soon as you found out?” Arthur demanded.

“Sire, don’t take what I did out on Merlin,” Lancelot insisted. “This is my deception, not his. All I have ever wanted was to be a knight. You know I am able. If you have need of me, then please, let me serve.”

“Go,” Arthur replied, cold.

“Sire?” Lancelot asked quietly.

“Come, Merlin,” Arthur bit out, turning away from them. Merlin followed. He’d need to help Arthur clean up for lunch. As soon as they were alone Arthur rounded on him. “How long did you know?”

“A day and night,” Merlin admitted.

“You swore to me you would come to me with any information you had. Was that just for saving your own neck, or did you not think that someone lying to me was worth me knowing?” Arthur growled.

“He said he wouldn’t lie to you when the time came, and he didn’t. He only wanted a chance to prove himself capable, and I didn’t see any harm in it,” Merlin shrugged. “No one asked him directly, and he swore he’d admit the truth himself if anyone did. It was just assumptions.”

“That makes it right?” Arthur spat, prowling around the room. “I’m trying to trust you.”

“I’m trying to give you what you need, which is my job,” Merlin answered.

“I don’t _need_ deception.”

“You do need good knights. You need someone who could pass the trial. He passed the trial,” Merlin said calmly. Arthur came to stand in front of him, well into his personal space, leveraging the inch of height he had over Merlin to look down at the ever-slouching servant.

“You had nothing to do with that?”

“I’d never use my talents against you, and I’ve told you I never studied battle magic.”

“Really?”

“I have a duty to you, first and always. I like the man, and I owe him for saving me in the woods. For that I told you about him. You keep saying it’s looking like all the sons of nobles in the realm are too lazy or cowardly to make knights, so I kept quiet for your sake.”

“How is this for my sake?” Arthur demanded to know.

“It gives you an option or an argument,” Merlin shrugged again. Arthur backed away, resuming his pacing. “You can use him, if not as a knight, which he has the skill for, than as a way to shame others into shaping up. Maybe put him in some highly visible place in the army, to inspire the conscripted men to train harder. He’s an example of what is possible for a commoner, and the nobles believe they are better than commoners by default and will want to surpass him.”

“He is skilled, and if things keep up this way the older knights will keep retiring to their estates and Camelot will be left weak.”

“That is at least the twelfth time I’ve heard something like said by someone in a position to know. I don’t know the all the details about the state of the realm. I’m only going off of what I do know, which is mostly from listening to you rant about this. I wouldn’t interfere with the trials; it wouldn’t do anyone any good to have a poorly skilled knight on duty no matter who sired them. Besides, even if I do like Lancelot as a person, he got Gwen’s attention somehow in the last couple days. If he fell on his face today, then he’d deserve the long walk of shame back home,” Merlin shrugged. “I’m really not inclined to help him impress her.”

“He stole Gwen from you?” Arthur asked, clearly choosing to be distracted. His temper always took time to cool, and the temporary distraction gave him time to think. They’d stumbled into the habit of talking this way naturally and Merlin found it worked well. The prince halted his pacing and lifted his arms so Merlin could finally get to his buckles.

“Well,” Merlin sighed, “If you don’t mind listening to my moaning about it, she’s been driving me nuts. I don’t think I actually had her in any real way, so saying he stole her is a bit of a stretch. She kissed me once, right after I woke up from the poison. I didn’t see her again until I was back on duty, and nothing. Well, nothing she didn’t do before. Our relationship is a mess: every so often she suddenly decides to hold my hand or say something incredibly flirtatious and then immediately take it back. I can’t say anything back or even give her a significant look in response or she starts stammering about how I am completely undesirable in every way even if she had just paid me a significant compliment. How am I expected to I take it? I’ve been kissed before by girls who thought it would be a lark, and let me just say, this was no joke or polite peck on the cheek. If I hadn’t been too weak to rise from the bed, I’d have tried to get somewhere about it even with Gaius in the room.”

“She’s teasing you that badly? Perhaps she has spent too much time with Morgana,” Arthur chuckled as Merlin pulled off the last of his armor, exposing the sweat-soaked cloth beneath so it could dry without causing any more rust than it already had. It was fairly early for lunch, Arthur would have expected the time between now and noon to be used to get Lancelot’s knighting arraigned. They would put the armor back on after he ate, but the chance to air out and eat in relative comfort was the Prince’s preference when he was stressed and not expected back on the green for a while.

“The worst part is if I say something about it, I’ll be the heartless one,” Merlin said, throwing out an arm in a helpless gesture. “There is no polite way to go about it. During the trial, she was oscillating between clutching at me like I was her rock and swooning over Lancelot. She noticed and apologized twice, like she does, but it’s just… How is that fair to me?”

“All is fair in love and war,” Arthur quoted.

“I’ve heard that one, it isn’t comforting,” Merlin quipped.

“He is a skilled soldier,” Arthur said, puffing out a lung-full of air in exasperation. “He seems like a good man. Perhaps my father will make an exception based on his skill.” Merlin made a face. “What?”

“I know how ridiculous this sounds coming from me, but is an exception to the code the best way? Do you _only_ need him, and _only_ right now?” Merlin asked.

“You don’t want me to make an exception to the law,” Arthur observed thoughtfully. “What would you have me do with the two of you, then?”

“I don’t know. For Lancelot, to convince your father to rework the First Code so that it isn’t causing more harm than good to the realm? It’s law, and I’ve only read the one book on laws and their application,” Merlin took a breath and chose his words carefully, “For me, swords are often used by thieves on the road. That doesn’t mean everyone you see on the road with a sword should be arrested. Instead of just saying ‘this tool is outlawed in all cases for all people’ you could give permission to certain people or under certain circumstances.”

“How is special permission not an exception?” Arthur asked dismissively.

“The knights have special permissions to enforce the laws, represent the crown in certain circumstance, and other powers that are not given to the regular army conscripts. It’s not an exception because there is a defined procedure anyone can follow. Clear rules and known requirements. If you find that the current procedure is not working properly for the good of the country, then,” Merlin turned away from Arthur, fiddling with the prince’s armor where he’d laid it out to dry on a table. “The King has the right to toss it all out and change everything, but that has to be weighted against how many powerful people would be pissed off if the Knights were radically altered or replaced with some other organization. On the other hand, imagine the danger if the the overly restrictive rules leave you without adequate defenses. I don’t pretend to know all of what I’m talking about, I’m sure you’ve studied more about this kingdom’s laws than I ever will, but I’ve been taught that operating under extremes is inherently dangerous. There is a reason you keep getting attacked by magical threats, you know. Camelot is a target, and as far as I am aware you have one aging grade six healer and one nearly untrained warlock as your only magically-inclined defenses.”

“Sorcery was never like the knights,” Arthur dismissed.

“I thought you finally found a book about Dragon Lords and the days before The Purge. Weren’t almost all of them trained as knights as well?” Merlin asked around a lump in his throat, taking the covered tray from where he’d left it this morning and serving Arthur his lunch. “Perhaps it was too freely used, I’m sure there must have been a reason it was outlawed beyond a single murder, but it was safely used by most of those who practiced it for centuries. Magic was considered an alternate or supplementary skill, blacksmiths would work with enchanters to harden their steel past mundane efforts, and healers and physicians worked hand in hand so much that common people use the words interchangeably. Before The Purge, magic was everywhere, used in every trade, not just to occasionally reach beyond what was possible otherwise but far more often just as an alternative method that utilized different resources in case of scarcity or need.”

Arthur was looking at Merlin like he’d grown an extra head.

“Well, that got off topic,” Merlin mumbled nervously.

“Did it?” Arthur asked. “You do ramble on from one insolent assertion to another. Occasionally you stumble into a good point. When a law no longer serves Camelot well, it should be changed. Making exploitable exceptions when the situation is well understood and the solution known would only prolong the process. I understand this situation perfectly well. There can not be one law for one man and another for the rest.”

“Gaius has been loyal to your family for years, my whole family has,” Merlin begged, knowing that Arthur was badly disturbed by the knowledge that Gaius was once a sorcerer. Merlin had caught him watching Gaius as if looking to find some evil mark on his skin.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur ordered. “Lancelot’s circumstance is clear enough, and the place where you fit into how the law is being applied is also obvious once enough thought it put to the situation. Gaius is training you as his replacement - in all things. My father has kept a sorcerer in his employ from the first to advise him and help deal with magical threats to the realm. It seems I will need to do the same, but you need to remember your place. Have you found anything about this beast that is attacking the outer towns?”

“Not yet, but Gaius is sure he has a relevant book. When I called it a griffin he also recognized the name as matching the description, but couldn’t remember where from. We just need to find the reference to confirm the details and come up with a strategy,” Merlin replied stiffly.

“Then when I am back in my armor you will go help him, and not a word to Lancelot. Let him think I am still angry at him,” Arthur decided.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin had another run-in with Gwen on his way back to Gaius to help with the research. He was loaded down by the lunch Merlin got from the kitchens for Gauis and himself, including some leftover berries from Arthur’s meal. She immediately reached out to help him carry the tray and ended up covering one of his hands with hers. He ignored it and thanked her for the help, but before he could explain that he wasn’t too ill to carry his own meal around she yanked her hand back and sent the little jug of juice and the cup of berries flying. They cleaned up the mess, and Merlin was very careful not to touch her or say a word as they did so.

That evening Merlin was stressed enough to be petty, and informed Gaius stiffly that he was ordered by Prince Arthur not to speak a word to Lancelot while sitting down to dinner right next to Lancelot. When Merlin then proceeded to obey that order by focusing solely on his dinner Gaius got a little cross.

“Prince Arthur can order you to do many things, Merlin, but you know this is ridiculous and rude,” Gaius scolded.

“Well, maybe I have a reason to go along with it,” Merlin’s flippant comment only made Gaius intensify his glare.

“Have I crossed you somehow?” Lancelot asked. He’d already apologized twice for causing Merlin trouble with his employer, going so far as to imagine that Arthur had beaten Merlin as punishment and offered to go provide his own skin to the lash. Merlin focused on his potatoes.

“Merlin, what has gotten into you?” Gaius puffed. He held out against the disappointed look his proxy grandparent was giving him for a whole of four seconds.

“I should have never introduced him to Gwen,” Merlin muttered.

“Is that what this is?” Gaius laughed - properly laughed - in Merlin’s glaring face. “Here I was worried there was something seriously wrong.”

“Gwen?” Lancelot questioned. “Merlin, if there is something between the two of you, I won’t get between you. You only had to say…”

“Stop being so… gracious,” Merlin huffed at him. “It’s already impossible not to be your friend.”

“She is beautiful, but I wasn’t aware I was intruding. I’d meant to ask you first, because I saw her hug you the once and I couldn’t tell if it was brotherly or not. Tell me what I did to cross the line. I won’t let it happen again. I promise,” Lancelot said with all the gravity of a sacred oath.

“You were just yourself,” Merlin spit out, hating that it was true. “I’m not mad at you anyway, I’m mad at Gwen for doing this to me. Again. Look, just let me work it out in my own head. I’m sorry I’m not good company right now.”

“Ah, my poor boy, it happens to the best of us. You’re young yet, there will be another pretty face before too long,” Gaius soothed.

“I just want her to, I don’t know. Make the decision and stick to it,” Merlin huffed. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m her fall-back option in case she can’t get someone with better prospects: flirting enough that I don’t go away but staying distant enough that getting jealous makes me feel like a villain.”

“Surely Gwen isn’t being that cruel to you. She seems such a sweet girl,” Lancelot dismissed. Merlin rounded on him, his frustration returning in full force.

“Well, you can have her and all her indecision. I’m done with it, so you don’t have to feel so nobly guilty when you get your hands…”

Gaius clapped his hands loudly.

“Right, now, since I don’t want the two of you in a fist fight over Guinevere’s honor: Lancelot, finish eating and retire. Merlin, stay down here with me tonight,” Gaius ordered. “We need to finish that research before there is another attack, in any case. It’ll give you something else to think about until you’ve calmed down.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

It was very late in the night when Merlin and Gaius found the book that held an image of the griffin. It was a book on myth, the closest thing to a book properly about magic that Gaius could keep out in the open. Merlin wished for the modest shelf of books in Ealdor, the more detailed descriptions of magical beasts and their origins would have been much more helpful. This entry was simply depressing. Born of a magical ritual that was not described with enough detail to highlight any way to disrupt the magic that sustained it, vulnerable only to powerful offensive spells and enchanted weaponry, and a bespoke killer of men. On the bright side, the griffin was moving slowly through the forest and Gaius felt they might find something to combat the creature before it reached the city.

They were busy at that, with Lancelot off doing Merlin’s usual job of fetching and delivering, when the creature came down from the sky and attacked the castle itself. The battle in the courtyard was hairy, from what Merlin could see through windows as he and Gaius rushed around the longer, safer way through the castle around the courtyard to the throne room. It seemed to dislike fire, but Merlin was fairly sure it was the same dull reaction most animals had rather than a real weakness. There were no injuries, but that included the griffin itself.

Uther insisted that Gaius was mistaken when he told the king what they had found. Arthur seemed far less confident, but he had just broken a spear against it to no effect. He looked at Merlin and Gaius in obvious entreaty, but they had been dismissed by the King and went back to the infirmary tower where they lived. There were a few moments silence as they collected their thoughts before Merlin spoke up.

“Could we be wrong about the griffin only being vulnerable to magic?”

“I’m afraid not, Merlin. If Arthur rides out against it he’ll die.”

“Then he must be stopped. Uther must see reason.” He thought he heard a hinge squeak while he was talking, but it was probably the creaky old table Gaius had leaned on.

“Where magic is concerned, our king is blind to reason,” Gaius argued, his voice flat and defeated. “And yet, magic is our only hope. It is your destiny, Merlin. The true purpose of your power.”

“You saw it Gaius, I can’t go up against that thing,” Merlin argued, starting to pace.

“But if you do not, then Arthur will surely perish.”

“No, no. This is madness. I can’t do anything that powerful. There must be another way.”

“This is the only way,” Gaius said calmly.

“Do you even care what happens to me? Just do this, Merlin. Do that, Merlin. Go and kill the griffin, Merlin. I’ll just sit here and warm my feet by the fire!” Merlin ranted. Gauis raised his voice and stepped into his personal space, making sure he had Merlin’s full attention.

“Merlin! Merlin, you are the only thing I care about in all this world. I would give my life for you without a thought. But for what? I cannot save Arthur, it is not my destiny. You know.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin apologized.

“I don’t know what else to say,” Gaius said helplessly.

“Then I’ll say it for you. We have two hours to find a way to kill that thing,” Merlin said decisively.

“You were serious,” Arthur’s voice made them both jump as he slipped in the partially open door.

“Sire!” they said in unison.

“I’d hoped to find you discussing some doubt you were too cautious to bring to my father. You really don’t have anything?” Arthur asked.

“Sire, I am a simple physician,” Gaius started to say.

“It’s alright Gaius, I know the truth about the two of you,” Arthur declared, looking extremely uncomfortable. “Enough of it, in any case. You have my permission to do,” he took a breath and waved his hand vaguely, “what you need to, for the good of Camelot.”

“Sire?” Gaius asked cautiously.

“I know some kings keep assassins and advisors of _special skill_ on hand for these instances. Even when they have outwardly banned certain practices in their kingdoms, it is prudent to keep a learned advisor to hand. If my father prefers his in the guise of a physician, well, perhaps I’ll inherit that custom from him as well. You are old enough, Gaius, that no one can fault you from standing back in the face of such a fierce battle. Work diligently, I will give you as much time to prepare as I can, yet. Yet I… I want to… see you begin, and know fully what it is I am approving of.” Arthur was clearly terrified of actually seeing anything mystical, or perhaps of seeing proof that might and sinew were not always enough the way he’d been taught they were. Merlin didn’t think he’d ever see an expression of vulnerability like this on Arthur’s face, but here it was in the wake of yet another piece of propaganda Arthur had seen debunked.

“Get the book,” Gaius ordered.

Merlin nodded and went to fetch the book of magic. He laid it on the table and started to flip through a section of wards. Gaius wavered, but after a moment he pulled the book from Merlin and skipped to a section in the middle, muttering that Merlin didn’t even know what he was looking for and that they needed something much stronger than wards meant to chase blight off crops. Arthur watched, looking at the book like it was a snake poised to strike.

“I can’t read any of that,” Arthur admitted.

“It is the language of the Old Religion,” Merlin offered.

“You did say you knew it,” Arthur replied, stiff and twitchy. The silence stretched awkwardly after that for a few minutes, Merlin studiously looking over Gaius’ shoulder. He was well past the part of the book Merlin had skimmed, let alone the part he was actively studying.

“There, you must do this for Arthur,” Gaius intoned.

“This is _chapters_ beyond where I am. I’ve never done anything like this,” Merlin protested.

“Nothing less will kill it,” Gaius spoke softly, doing his best at pretending that Arthur wasn’t watching them commit a crime worthy of death. Merlin could feel him shaking a little where his side pressed against Merlin, their heads bent close to read the same page. He picked up the old dagger that had served as their athame at Midsummer and passed it to him. They’d left it on the table all week, out in the open as if they didn’t need to hide such things, a testament to the value of hiding in plain sight. The weight of the symbolism in Gaius drawing attention to it was not lost on him. “Here, try. You have it within you. I know you do.”

Merlin held up the dagger, focusing as best he could with Arthur’s eyes burning into his hands, and quietly incanted the spell. Nothing happened for a long awkward moment of silence. He looked a Gaius despondently, fully aware of the ominous nothing he’d managed to do.

“Don’t worry, Merlin. We’ve plenty of time,” Gaius lied gently. “Try again.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Arthur mumbled and fled the room.

Gaius locked the door after Arthur. The time seemed to rush past as Merlin kept trying and failing to cast the spell. He was sure Arthur would be going out to the woods at any moment. Arthur was going to die because Merlin wasn’t good enough. He was starting to panic over it when there was pounding at the door. Gaius opened it and Gwen rushed in.

“Merlin, Lancelot’s riding out to kill the griffin,” Gwen cried, all but throwing herself into his arms.

“He’s what?” Merlin gasped, spinning her toward Gaius so he could run out to find the frustrating man. If Lancelot was riding out Arthur was sure to have already left. His fear was confirmed as soon as he saw the nearly empty stables. He insisted on coming with Lancelot and said a quiet prayer in the Old Tongue as he mounted up. The sounds of battle carried a long way in the darkened forest. It was over before they arrived. The knights were strewn about like scattered leaves. Arthur was still alive, though unconscious and likely concussed.

Lancelot squared up against the griffin, hoping to take it out by charging it with a lance. Merlin repeated the spell over and over, half prayer as he asserted his will and demanded that the lance kill the beast. The glow that surrounded the lance was absorbed into the griffin when it hit square-on, and the lance itself stayed embedded deeply in the beast. Merlin had the chance for one triumphant shout, and to see the poleaxed look on Lancelot’s face, before pitching forward and vomiting up everything he’d eaten in the last week. While he was on his hands and knees trying to get his breathing back to an even rhythm he heard Arthur shouting.

“Lancelot?”

“Sire,” Lancelot sounded stunned.

“You did it. You killed it, Lancelot!” Arthur crowed, relived. Merlin tried to get up and get back to Gaius for some of that herbal tea and a bit of well-earned private celebration, but he just managed to fall back on his ass. At least he hadn’t landed in the puddle he made.

“Merlin,” Sir Leon gasped, having spotted the struggling boy. The knight jogged over to him, checking him for any obvious injury while Merlin did the same to him. “What possessed you to come out here?”

“Oh, just, you know, ready to offer medical aid,” Merlin breathed, swallowing back against the pain shooting through him. He said the only thing that wouldn’t put him on the pyre. “And trying to not pass out from the residual toxins from the Morteus Flower in my system reacting to the proximity of a very powerful magical creature. Feels like I could have poisoned it, if it ate me. Glad it didn’t come to that.” Merlin tried to get up again, managing it a bit better this time, though Sir Leon caught his arm to support him. Arthur came over and tried to get a good look at him in the moonlight, casting a critical eye at the puddle of sick on the ground next to him.

“Get him back to Gaius,” Arthur ordered. “As swiftly as you can.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Gaius had guessed something like this would happen and had begun preparing a bath of hot water laced with the same purifying herbs Merlin had been drinking as soon as Merlin left to chase Lancelot. The obligatory bad jokes about the world’s largest cup of tea had been made while Gwen helped the older man with the last kettles of hot water. Sir Leon kindly offered to remain in the infirmary with his male servant to carry Merlin from the bed to the bath and back so Gwen could leave, and was good enough to laugh at the bad jokes and keep up enough chatter to prevent the fussy manservant George from making any comments on the admittedly deplorable state of Merlin’s person.

Merlin woke up in the middle of the night. He sat up from under a pile of half the linens in the whole infirmary tower, the cool night air against his bare chest giving him a shiver. He wasn’t sure what woke him, as he wasn’t in pain anymore, until a throat cleared at his side. He turned slowly, blinking, his eyes adjusting to the moonlight slower than he was used to. Arthur was kneeling near the head of the cot in his nightshirt.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked softly. A quick glance showed Gaius sleeping soundly on his own cot, likely too tired to be easily roused.

“I need to know,” Arthur whispered, not looking at Merlin’s face. It was fine, Merlin knew what he looked like: slender ribs and knobby joints poking out like sticks stuffed in a sack, with only a few wiry muscles holding him together.

“I failed so many times I was almost certain we’d all die. I got it, at the last second,” Merlin offered. “I managed the enchantment while Lancelot was making a final charge at the griffin. I… I’m not sure if he noticed. I fell asleep before Sir Leon left, and I didn’t see Lancelot come in, though he might have slipped past while I was behind the screen.”

“You did it without touching the lance?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed, still rather amazed he’d had that much power and control. “It glowed. It looked like lightning to me, but to other eyes it could have been mistaken for reflected moonlight. Possibly. Maybe it only glowed to me, I’m really not sure how easily normal people can see magical energy, how much of what I see when I look at it is visible to others.”

“That doesn’t inspire confidence,” Arthur mumbled. “He isn’t staying. I think I was winning the argument with my father that the Code needed changing when he burst into the throne room. He proved my point with how noble he acted, taking responsibility for being the cause of the argument. Then he ended by saying he would start over somewhere else. He’ll ride out first thing tomorrow on a horse I gave him earlier today after the first time Father rejected my suggestion.”

“That’s a shame, he is a good man,” Merlin sighed.

“I think he might know he didn’t kill the griffin, now that you told me what really happened,” Arthur said, nervously shifting side to side.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t hit it square on, I just sharpened the weapon. I’m not strong enough for combat like that. Can… Would you pass me that bowl?” Merlin asked, pointing at the table behind the prince. “I’m supposed to eat as much of it as I can if I’m awake.”

“Do you have trouble eating since the poison?” Arthur asked, still looking at Merlin’s torso instead of his face.

“No one looks like this after a couple weeks of mild illness while being otherwise well-fed,” Merlin dismissed, twisting around on the bed so that he could sit straighter while they talked. “I told you a bit about my village. It isn’t a rich area. Why do you think country folk count age by how many winters we have survived?”

“You were starving every year,” Arthur said, as if the concept that there were people both willing to work and possessing valuable skills who still could not put enough food on the table was alien to him. Perhaps it was. The tax man always chided the people of Ealdor for sloth in lean years, no matter how bad the weather had been. Perhaps all nobles thought that way.

“Often, but not every winter. My little sister didn’t make it through her first winter. Neither did six others in our village that year,” Merlin shrugged. “It was hard everywhere, and even though we had some coin saved we couldn’t find anyone willing to sell food for any price.” Merlin would use magic to get the bowl of mashed vegetables, but he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t drop it on Arthur’s head. He reached for it over the blond’s shoulder, but overbalanced and landed in a naked heap across Arthur’s lap.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasped, then grabbed the bowl and spoon for him. Merlin righted himself and started eating, trying to ignore the similarity to the pastes mothers made for toddlers. Arthur kept one hand on Merlin’s elbow, his eyes politely remaining on Merlin’s face at last. “You saved my life and it nearly killed you. Again.”

“That’s the general idea,” Merlin said between spoonfuls of mush. “It’s what I’m for.”

“You get enough food, here?” Merlin could see what it cost Arthur to ask that. Merlin was almost entirely paid in food, and if Merlin was going hungry it meant there was something very wrong with the stewardship of the citadel. Merlin wondered what dire sight the Prince was imagining hid under Merlin’s clothes when they first met in the early spring, when everyone in the villages was always thinnest.

“Gaius keeps having to remind me that I do. I’m used to living off one or two meals a day and taking only the bare minimum of what I need so that there will be enough for others,” Merlin tried to explain. “Some days I only ate your leftovers, even though I can ask for my own meals, and when Gaius found out he had a fit. That kind of extreme parsimony is a hard habit to break, when it’s all you’ve ever known.”

“Does it have to do with, you know. Religious austerity?” Arthur still had a hard time talking directly about magic, but that was alright for now.

“No, just habit from making sure there was enough for my mother to eat.”

“Then I’ll have to tell the cook on you.”

“Goddess preserve my life if you tell Audrey I’ve been starving myself rather than eat her cooking,” Merlin grumbled. Arthur flicked a finger over his ribs.

“You have to take care of this, Merlin. This isn’t necessary here. No wonder you can’t keep a guard up during my training sessions. The weight of the sword must nearly snap those twigs you call arms,” Arthur grumbled right back. “Idiot.” Merlin set the bowl back on the table, still about a quarter full.

“I can only eat so much at once or I’ll be sick,” Merlin shrugged at the look he was getting. “That’s temporary, from overexertion. I’ll be better in a few hours.” Arthur nodded at that. Merlin pulled one of the blankets around his shoulders, more for modesty than anything else. The summer night was warm enough after he dried from the bath.

“You should go back to sleep. I shouldn’t have woken you.”

“I’ll sleep better knowing I answered your questions. It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” Merlin replied.

“You keep saying that word, but I’m starting to think your definition of fine doesn’t match a sensible person’s. What you told Leon, about residual toxins, was that true or just a cover?”

“The same sorceress that enhanced the potency of the poison summoned the griffin, there is no doubt in my mind. Gaius said he recognized her hand in the remains of the Afanc, too. Her name is Nimueh. It seems Camelot has a tenacious enemy,” Merlin sighed. “Gaius decided to soak me in the biggest cup of tea the kingdom has yet seen. You should have seen it, I was covered in herbs and flower petals. Though, I do feel a lot better.”

“So, the thing you did didn’t make you ill?” Arthur asked, still tense as a bowstring.

“That’s not as simple a question as you think it is, but simply put if I hadn’t been poisoned I wouldn’t be sick now. Black magic is like… tar, or sap. It sticks, soaks in, tries to stain everything it touches. I’m sick because I’m fighting it off,” Merlin mumbled. “It’s stuck on my innards and if I try to get rid of it too quickly I hurt myself. The energy I used to enchant the lance came from within myself. Other spells can draw power from the earth or use the energy and elements stored in herbs, but this one used only my life’s energy.”

“Only?” Arthur jolted.

“What do you call the energy you use to swing a sword around? It’s the same thing: the power made by the beating of my heart and the breath in my lungs that keeps my body moving. The spell has a safeguard in it so it can’t exhaust a man past his ability to recover. I doubt anything in Gaius’ book would lack that or he would keep it locked away from me, I’m sure. That energy runs through every part of my body alongside the blood in my veins. The more I use it, the more the toxin moves through me, and the sicker I’ll be in the short term. At least it means I get the chance to get rid of it faster. My body can’t easily remove the residual magic unless it’s active. That’s tied to my talent I think. I can only see active magic, Valiant’s shield looked normal to me when it sat still and dormant in the armory and I could only hear the snakes hiss and see them blinking or moving when the spell was awakened by something.”

“But what you did tonight, it wasn’t some foul thing that caused you to be ill on it’s own,” Arthur clarified.

“No, no that was violent, but… Dark and Light when it comes to magic have to do with a person’s motivation,” Merlin gambled on explaining. “It goes back to what I said about magic being a tool, but it’s also about the fuel used to forge that tool. A spell at its core is energy directed using willpower, and how a person goes about it matters. If you burn green pine logs in your fireplace, you’ll block up the flue with sap and eventually start a chimney fire fit to melt the mortar from between the stones. Charcoal and properly aged wood burns cleaner, doesn’t cause damage or leave behind dangerous residue. I still have to take care of myself. Clean the metaphorical flue, but that’s easily done. In this case, to follow the metaphor, I’ve had a bunch of garbage tossed into my hearth by an inconsiderate witch. I will be fine. I’m young and can handle it with Gaius’ care. It’ll just take time.”

“You will be free of this.” It sounded like an oath. “I see what my father means when he says magic is a temptation, now, though no matter how much I try I don’t see that I had any other option in this case. The griffin would have slaughtered everyone it came across and made the city a tomb. Still, I’ve pushed you, more than I had right to, more than what should be. I asked you to take on this burden: To be my weapon when you had repeatedly recoiled from the idea of becoming a hidden blade. To move beyond your theoretical and peaceful knowledge of magic and use it violently in my service despite your previous respect for the spirit of the law. To fight a battle while still badly ill, a demand I do not make on my fellow knights. Yet you obediently followed my order despite it being beyond both your distaste for violence and your current physical limits. I have a duty as your liege lord to see you are supplied with what you need to satisfy my demands on you and to recover from the wounds you receive in battle the same as any other man under my command.”

“I obeyed willingly, and without protest,” Merlin replied, ignoring the wetness he felt on his cheeks. Better to let out his emotions than bottle them until he could hold no more. “I appreciate you trying to take full responsibility for me, but don’t try to take more than there is. I don’t consider my morals compromised at all, because out of all possible outcomes this was the one with the least bloodshed. I was going to try even before you ordered me to, because it was the right thing to do. I’m no strict pacifist, merely nonviolent. Preferring to act peacefully doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself or those I care for when I need to, and I like watching a clean tourney duel as much as the next person.”

“Nor are you sworn to defend Camelot, though you acted as much like a knight as anyone else in the wood today. How long do you think it will take for this poison to leave you?” Arthur asked. It was the first time he’d done so directly, preferring to give Merlin the authority to delegate those chores he wasn’t well enough to do and judging his recovery by that measure. Merlin did his best not to abuse the right to order about the two pages that volunteered to the post, as they did have other duties and lessons of their own.

“A year and a day is the traditional advisement for this kind of exposure to dark magic. Not that I shouldn’t exert myself at all, I can’t lay in a sickbed unmoving and expect to get stronger. I have to exercise, keep up my strength,” Merlin assured.

“It seems everything about this is metaphor. How do you exercise magic?” Arthur asked.

“I wasn’t being metaphorical this time. What I do to take care of myself isn’t any different from how anyone else does it. Rest. Food. Activity,” Merlin said as casually as he could. “I really didn’t think I could do anything to the griffin. When I got a proper look at it, when you fought it in the courtyard, it was horrifying. Far more than before, when I was too focused on escaping it to get a real look. To take down something like that? Honestly, I don’t fully believe I did it. In the end I got the spell to work through sheer desperation and the need to protect the fallen. I suppose I might have to test my limits a little more often, try to figure out what it is I can actually do, though I really don’t want to do anything like this again anytime soon.”

“You can’t gain muscle or strength of body without pushing yourself, within reason, nor without properly feeding your body,” Arthur observed, a look in his eye asking if he was thinking along the right lines.

“Exactly so.”


	8. A Cure for All Ills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Morgana falls ill and a man shows up who has the cure. While trying to resolve a much more personal issue, Merlin ends up preventing the assassination of King Uther.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Trigger Warning_ \- Grooming.** An adult male flirting with an underage boy (by modern standards.) Period-typical discussion of homosexuality. Rationalization of grooming/rejection of victimhood by the victim.

Arthur was as ruthless as ever in the morning light, and had no sympathy for what he’d done by sicking the tyrant Head Cook Audrey on him. She decided to lift up Merlin’s tunic to check how far his ribs were sticking out for herself, causing all the kitchen maids to twitter. The rumors that Merlin was either magic-proof or somehow able to absorb or negate its effects had finally gotten traction after reports of Merlin facing the griffin at Arthur’s side and being carried home by Sir Leon got around. That bundle of rumors combined with the direct order from the prince to ensure Merlin was properly fed begot the realization that, as he lived with Gaius, there was no woman currently looking after him. The obviousness of his ribs convinced the kitchen staff that he couldn’t look after himself, and the older maids tutted about how hopeless men were on their own. This lead to further chatter about him that spread to the lower town especially among those he delivered medicines to, and put all together it meant that by the end of the week Merlin was the most eligible common born bachelor under twenty in the city.

He had no prior experience with this sort of popularity. He’d been held at arms length by the people of Ealdor, and had no one to turn to for advice about girls. Gaius was a lifelong bachelor and just shrugged and said Merlin would figure it out soon enough. He’d gotten a bit cornered by some of the more aggressive maids and ducked down toward the dragon to hide for a while, sitting on a rock under a summoned light to do the mending he’d been carrying at the time. Kilgharah laughed entirely too long when Merlin explained why he looked so harried. The dragon said sarcastically that while he had no useful advice to give, he was thankful for the best laugh he’d had in a century. When Merlin brought the dragon up to date with current events to explain why he was a hot commodity the old dragon sat down heavily in shock that the time of Albion was so near. That Arthur had already pledged himself to work with Merlin and ordered him to use magic at his command was a happy surprise for the old lizard. He thanked Merlin for coming to deliver such good news, and wished him luck in picking a mate. Merlin decided to let the odd terminology slide. Kilgharah wasn’t human, after all, and Merlin was most definitely not interested in the workings of a dragon’s romance.

 Merlin decided the safest bet was to just pick one of the younger scullery maids and give her his best effort. He liked most of them well enough and they were sufficiently busy with their own jobs so they couldn’t be too demanding on him. Alice, in particular, had taken to feeding Merlin up with zeal once he started flirting back. She found him a couple times and pulled him into a dark corner to ‘reward him’ for liking her pastries and agreeing to get her fresh herbs when he went gathering. He felt a little rushed, going from barely knowing her name to having her tongue in his mouth, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. It cured him of the urge to sulk when he saw Gwen, something that had been noticed and commented on. He had been avoiding long conversations with her. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t blurt out his frustrations and hurt her feelings if she made some comment about how much she liked men of a type that had some specific trait Merlin shared, but not Merlin specifically, no, he wasn’t good enough to consider.

Things had just calmed down again when Morgana fell seriously ill, and suddenly none of his troubles were important. He did keep a physical distance from Gwen, ensuring that there would be no hand-holding or accidental bumps that might trigger another effusive rejection. As time passed and Morgana worsened, her health quickly became the only thing on their minds anyway. Arthur was just as worried for her as Merlin was, and when one of them stopped fidgeting and fretting over her the other one started up.

Arthur had asked him once if he could heal Morgana. Merlin repeated Gaius’ words that the illness wasn’t magical and would therefore be best cured by non-magical means. When asked what he could see with his talent he shrugged and said he didn’t understand what he was seeing at all, not even enough to find the words to describe it, but there was something different about her head and that fit with Gaius’ diagnosis. He also mentioned that Arthur’s orders were trumped by the king’s law, and the king had not yet given Gaius leave to use his healing magic. If Merlin tried to ease her sickness even just to lessen her suffering and anything magical was discovered in the time - possibly days - it would take to properly cure her, there would be another witch hunt and someone would be executed. Likely Gaius, Gwen, or Merlin himself. By some unspoken agreement they went to the training grounds and spent a couple hours working on throwing knives. It was one of the combat skills Arthur insisted Merlin needed on the logic that better aim was better aim, no matter with a weapon or a spell. It also gave them something else to yell about.

 When Edwin Muirden showed up and healed Morgana it seemed a little odd. Gaius would never miss something so obvious and there was no blood on the pillow, but she was recovering, and Edwin was the cause. Merlin did the best he could to help, which wasn’t much more than carrying things around. He was curious about the instruments Edwin had, and about Edwin himself, honestly. Merlin wanted to know how to do whatever it was that improved Morgana’s health so quickly. Alchemy was an interesting subject, a gray area between science and magic for certain, and he suspected that it had a lot to do with Edwin’s talents.

Merlin should have been more cautious when he went to see Edwin. He hadn’t meant to do anything, but the door was unlocked and he was just so curious about the instruments that he started snooping a little while waiting for the man to turn up. He’d read the runes on the box aloud without actually trying to cast any spell. If Edwin himself hadn’t been a sorcerer it would have been his head, or perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed? It seemed it took quite a lot for someone without magic to notice magic even when it was right in front of them. In any case, it was wonderful to meet another peaceful sorcerer, and a powerful healer at that! He’d started smiling as Edwin admitted to using healing magic and couldn’t seem to stop.

“A gift like yours should be nurtured, practiced, enjoyed. You need someone to help you, to encourage you,” Edwin spoke, and it felt a bit like talking to Alice. The hungry look in his eyes wasn’t quite the same, but part of Merlin seemed to think it was close enough.

“Perhaps,” Merlin answered, not sure why he was blushing.

“Imagine what we could achieve if we shared our knowledge,” Ewdin wondered, and he was standing quite close to Merlin now.

“I-I should be getting back,” Merlin stammered.

“You must promise to keep…” Edwin stopped talking and looked down. His slight limp had made him sway into Merlin for a moment when he stepped closer, and that made things very awkward.

“Sorry, sorry, I, ah, sorry,” Merlin sputtered.

“Don’t be,” Edwin said softly, a lopsided blush touching his un-scarred cheek. His hand came up to tug the hood over his burn, hiding it. “It is… not offensive. I’m - I’m flattered, really. It’s not often, with a face like mine, that I get a compliment like that. Here I thought you were running away because I’d scared you.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s wonderful to meet another peaceful sorcerer. I’d love to work with you when we have the time.” Edwin’s hand deliberately trailed down below Merlin’s waist, a single light petting motion that set Merlin on fire. He was suddenly very aware of his own hands, and had no idea what to do with them. “It’s nice not to be alone all the time. There is someone who knows about my magic. I’m unofficially officially employed here as a warlock,” Merlin said, wishing he had something less practical to mind.

“By Gaius? You said he doesn’t approve of…”

“He doesn’t approve of me doing little things, in case it becomes enough of a habit I do it in public without thinking,” Merlin explained.

“Prince Arthur is your direct employer, is that safe?” Edwin whispered, leaning close again.

“He is a muscle-brain who’s never seen a magic spell that wasn’t delivered in overly dramatic fashion by someone trying to kill him,” Merlin laughed the accusation off, the same tactic Arthur had used to protect him. “Though as much as he can’t protect us from the King, I doubt he would have us executed for using healing magic if it was his say, either. He’s both afraid of magic and aware of his skewed perspective. I… don’t have the right to tell you about anyone other than myself who has magical knowledge. Given the punishment if the King found out, you understand.”

“People like you and I, we must look after each other,” Edwin said sweetly. Merlin allowed it as Edwin reached out and hugged him close. It was nothing like the hurried way Alice attacked him. He’d cooled off a little due to the dire topic of conversation. It was just a gentle moment, and comfortable.

“If you like I’ll ask my friend if he would trust you,” Merlin whispered against Edwin’s good ear. He spent a moment enjoying how very warm the gentle petting of his back was before potentially ruining it, “And I’m a bit, uh. If we’re going to be, well, hugging, I should warn you I’m _significantly_ younger than I look.” Edwin took a large step back.

“You are old enough to know yourself, though?” Edwin asked delicately.

“Old enough,” Merlin assured. “But only just, though, as the law is written. I’m not sure of your age, if it would be inappropriate…”

“Oh good,” Edwin sighed. “I’m not so old, only a little older than the Prince. Enough to be a recognized physician, of course. You are a pleasant surprise, and I am sure we can come to a beneficial arrangement.”

“Okay,” Merlin nodded. Edwin kissed him, chase and gentle.

“Go on,” Edwin said, stepping back. “I’ll have to think about coming out as a sorcerer to your confidant, it is hard to trust someone blindly even on your word that they are safe to talk to, but for now we both have things to do.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin was confused, angry, and lost. Gaius was leaving? Over one mistake? He wasn’t even fighting it! Arthur seemed upset about it as well, and he assured Merlin that Gaius was welcome to stay with an allowance as a reward for his years of good service. Merlin debated mentioning that Edwin had used magic to heal Morgana, but couldn’t come to a decision. It felt petty to tattle to Arthur when he didn’t know if the man was acting maliciously somehow or just doing his best. When Arthur dismissed him, more because Merlin was in a right state than because he was done for the day, he sought out Edwin. Gaius had said he didn’t want to ask to work with Edwin, but Merlin had no such hangup.

“Edwin?” Merlin asked, half out of breath from jogging down the hallway.

“Merlin,” the scarred man greeted him cheerfully, “It’s nice to see you again. I was just thinking about getting something to eat, if you…”

“Gaius is _leaving_. I think he feels like he has to, though he won’t talk about it. I was wondering, would you ask him to stay?” Merlin blurted out in a rush. “I know you are replacing him, but… you could work together, or he could help in the lower town and surrounding villages, at least until I finish my education. There is plenty of work even for three of us.”

“Why do you care for your old tutor so much?” Edwin frowned, the edge of jealousy clear in his voice.

“He’s family,” Merlin begged, shouting at first before calming down. “I don’t have anyone else in the city; I imagine you can understand. It’s like you said, people like us should stick together. I know he feels like you want him gone completely. I even understand it, a little, because he feels insulted to be set aside even if he’d never dare say that to Uther’s face. If you told him it was fine if he stayed in the city he would.”

“You’re his son?” Edwin sounded scandalized.

“Another generation along,” Merlin corrected. “Though in his eyes I’m as good as. I’d do anything for him, please.”

“I didn’t know, I swear it,” Edwin admitted, seeming genuinely sorry. “I’m sorry I’m displacing someone precious to you, but the king wanted me to stay on. You should know it was rather insulting to me, also, some of the things he did dare to say to me. I won’t repeat them; I don’t want you to think I’m trying to bend your heart away from him. I will say I don’t think we could work together. Let me make it up to you. I can ask for you to be my full-time assistant, and if you want to visit him occasionally it would be no trouble for me, assuming he doesn’t go far.”

“To live with my mother,” Merlin sighed. “In Essetir.”

“Then infrequently, but still,” Edwin offered, stepping close enough that his thigh touched Merlin’s, aiming to pull him into an embrace. He stopped with his arm out awkwardly when Merlin looked sharply away from him.

“I won’t abandon or betray Prince Arthur, either,” Merlin asserted loudly. Merlin saw the door start to open out of the corner of his eye. “So, I can’t be your full-time assistant.”

“I don’t like seeing you so upset, and I like less that I am the source of it,” Edwin apologized, reaching instead to cup Merlin’s cheek, bringing the young warlock’s eyes back to his own. “I’d honestly thought we’d be celebrating this together; I’d made plans.” Merlin stepped away abruptly.

“Your majesty,” Merlin said with a bow.

“What is this?” Uther asked pointedly. The king had seen the intimate way Edwin’s thumb had pet Merlin’s cheek for certain. Merlin wasn’t sure how much he’d heard.

“Your majesty,” Edwin spoke as he bowed deeply, “I’m correcting a miscalculation on my part. I had not realized I was putting Merlin out when I took Gaius’ place, and was inconsiderate when I’d wanted to pleasantly surprise him. He has a remarkable intellect, and I thought Gaius was ignoring his studies. The records are a bit sparse, and I thought Merlin could do far better if not held back. I hadn’t realized what I took to be genuine conflict was just a bit of filial bickering,” Edwin said smoothly, twitching a bit to address Merlin. “You won’t be leaving with him, I hope?”

“Gaius wants me to stay here,” Merlin announced, “and I owe Prince Arthur more than I can repay with a life of service.” The king nodded with approval to that.

“A remarkable intellect, you said?” Uther echoed, taking a small step into the room.

“Absolutely, your highness. I want him as my assistant full-time. When he was helping me put away my instruments after seeing to the Lady Morgana, I gave him a bit of a test. He learned and used creatively a new concept I put to him and puzzled out how to use a piece of my equipment he’d never seen before within the span of minutes,” Edwin praised. Uther would have had a fit if he knew Edwin was talking about cleaning up spilled powder with a spell and animating healing beetles, and Edwin seemed to relish the secret. “I’ve never seen such a natural talent.”

“My son has ordered the boy to spend time in the library,” Uther allowed. “I had thought it was to fix the ignorance of a farm boy.”

“Sire?” Merlin spoke up hesitantly. “Arthur generally lets me study medicine and other topics at my choosing, but his last demand for my study hours was a review of certain sections of law codices.”

“As punishment for something?” Edwin asked. Uther seemed equally curious.

“So that I would understand him better when he is talking, partially,” Merlin said with a shrug. “If I don’t use all the languages I know regularly I’ll forget them. He thought it would serve to keep us both sharp if we compare excerpts of similar laws written in different languages. Being tied to the library is also keeping me from overextending myself again.”

“Ah, yes, the poison,” Uther nodded. “Edwin, have you gone over Merlin’s medical treatment as well?”

“I was unaware he was ill.”

“I can make the preparation myself, sire. It’s simple enough, I collect what I need when I am out gathering other herbs, and I wouldn’t want to be underfoot when I don’t need to be,” Merlin assured, tilting his head in a shallow bow that didn’t break eye contact.

“Nonsense. Edwin, I’ll have you know this boy was gravely ill after discovering and drinking poison in my son’s place, a show of rare loyalty that has earned him a favored position. Arthur expects him to have the best medical care until he is fully recovered,” the king said, every word ringing false against Merlin’s understanding of the order of things. Uther had never seen him as anything more valuable than a mop. The king had also been walking toward Merlin as they spoke. Slowly and steadily, ever since Merlin had mentioned his debt to Arthur. “I was actually planning to have someone fetch the boy for me when I heard you talking. You are well enough not to require constant care anymore, correct?”

“Yes, your majesty, there is little danger that I shall lose my breath again in the night, and Alice the apprentice baker has taken over ensuring I eat properly until my appetite comes back,” Merlin played along.

“We had put off rewarding you for your bravery in offering battlefield first aid during the griffin attack due to your continued frail health, but as you are no longer too fragile to make use of what had been prepared for you my son and I wish to present it to you personally. Come.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin walked out after Uther with his heart beating a mile a minute. The king led him down a couple different hallways into a part of the castle he wasn’t very familiar with. He usually used the service entrances, and the main corridors still got him turned around sometimes. When the king finally led Merlin through a guarded door, he was surprised to see a richly appointed sitting room with several counselors and Prince Arthur looking over documents. These must be the King’s personal rooms; Merlin had very deliberately never been near them.

“Father, why is Merlin here?” Arthur asked.

“Sit,” Uther ordered, and the assembled noblemen returned to their seats. There was only one empty chair, the largest one, and Merlin knew better than to take it. “You look pale as the night, boy. Speak the truth simply and fear no punishment.” Merlin had never heard the king speak so gently before, though there was still something dangerous and steely hidden under the concern. “Did I see rightly that Edwin had his thigh between yours?”

“I… Yes, Sire, but I…”

“No,” Uther cut him off. The counselors shifted in discomfort and Arthur’s face was a mask of fury. “Simple answers only and remain as calm as you can. He claimed you came to him to address some cruelty he’d accidentally done against you. I heard some concerning words from the hallway, enough to make me enter the room. What was it really about?”

“Gaius is leaving Camelot for my mother’s home. I thought it was because he felt chased off, and asked Edwin to invite him to work together or at least to make it clear he did not have to leave the city entirely,” Merlin said as simply as he could.

“And somewhere in response to asking for this favor, his leg found its way between yours and his hand came to stroke your face.”

“Yes,” Merlin admitted slowly. It hadn’t felt… he hadn’t been…

“You didn’t move away from him or address me immediately, even though you clearly saw me enter the room.” Uther paused for Merlin to respond.

“I, I’m sorry for the breech of protocol? Sire?” Merlin guessed. The kings shook his head ruefully.

“An understandable choice. Has he touched you like that before?” Uther asked another leading question.

“Not exactly,” Merlin said reluctantly, starting to see things from Uther’s point of view and hating it.

“How then, exactly?”

“A hug, and a hand, ah, a hand below my belt,” Merlin stuttered, wishing he could stop trembling, unsure exactly when he’d started. Arthur growled something under his breath, but didn’t speak up. “This was on the day he healed Lady Morgana. He didn’t try to take my clothes off, or anything. He kissed me, like a gentleman with a girl, when I went to leave.”

“He said he’d used that time to test your skill as an assistant. What had you actually been talking about, that time?”

“Teaching me, it started out just as he said it did - it wasn’t a lie. I’d gone back to ask him how he healed Lady Morgana after I’d finished my tasks that afternoon.” Merlin grit his teeth against the sudden wave of hurt. Had it been a _transaction?_ He hadn’t even noticed.

“Did you express your discomfort?”

“I, I sort of agreed to, um. I’d thought that, and he’d just, I didn’t think he would, and it was,” Merlin closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He forced himself to speak in complete sentences, as he could not test the King’s patience no matter what kind of charitable mood the man was in. “After he touched me, I told him I’m younger than I look. I suggested it would be inappropriate.”

“What was his response?”

“That he was only a little older than the Prince, so it was fine,” Merlin winced. Gods, that sounded bad out of context. Arthur smacked the table with his fist at the implication. That was one thing Arthur did not use his servants for, no matter how common that was for other young nobles. “And that we could come to a - a beneficial arrangement.”

“A worrying predilection,” Uther sighed. For once Merlin was glad of the man’s incessant paranoia.

“Merlin will stay in my rooms,” Arthur suggested immediately. “The antechamber can be set up for him as is custom for a manservant. It might already be, but I believe the steward expected them both to stay in their old chambers a while longer before vacating the infirmary tower.” There were nods all around the room.

“Good. I did not want to make an accusation before speaking with the boy, and took him from the room under the implication that he was being rewarded for his recent loyalty with better accommodations. You did well to signal for help, by letting me see his advance and then making clear it was unwanted without raising his alarm,” Uther praised Merlin, laying what the king likely thought was a comforting hand on his shaking shoulder for a brief moment before turning to sit in his huge armchair. “The reminder of your loyalty to my son was not out of place, the mention of the law well done, and the way you turned the conversation to express that he was not welcome to take up your medical treatment quite artful. I doubt he is familiar enough with recent events and personalities to find any of our conversation odd. I find it shocking in a farm boy, to play such a game so well.”

“Merlin has a tendency to speak his mind, out of turn or otherwise,” Arther answered in Merlin’s stead. “Since he has also proven observant, I chose to encourage him to learn to speak in a way that would not give direct offense. Thus far he is usually terrible at it, but occasionally says something truly clever. It has been much easier than my initial plan of getting him to shut up.”

“It would seem he learned something from your direction,” Uther said thoughtfully.

“Thank you, father, I… wait a moment,” Arthur said, suddenly sitting straighter in his chair. “You said Gaius was going to live with your mother?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Lift up your shirt to your collar bone,” Arthur ordered. Merlin looked at him oddly, but there was no room for back talk here. He shucked his jacket onto the floor, undid the thong that held his tunic in place and lifted the hem of his tunic to expose his skinny frame. “Thank you, that should suffice.”

“What was that about?” Sir Geoffery asked as Merlin dressed.

“I wanted you all to see for yourselves how thin he still is, so you understand my concern properly,” Arthur explained to the room. “Those easily countable ribs are not from illness, but are instead the remaining evidence of how badly off the west of Essetir is, and this after being well fed by the kitchen staff here in Camelot. He was skin and bone when he first came to my service, so much accustomed to want that he found eating full meals difficult well before the poison. Even his well-educated and skilled family, considered the most respected in their low company, cannot buy food at any price in winter. I have a hard time imagining that Gaius would willingly go to such a place when my father, his good friend for many years, offered him an allowance and appropriate housing for his retirement.”

“You suspect some coercion?” Uther asked.

“I find it suspicious, Father, and even more so knowing that Edwin has been salivating over having Merlin beneath him,” Arthur said. Merlin cringed, hunching into himself.

“Have heart, lad,” Sir Geoffery advised. “Prince Arthur meant nothing against you.”

“I could have lived better without the double-entendre,” Merlin deadpanned. Sir Geoffery and some of the other noblemen pinked. The King covered his face with a hand to hide his reaction, and Prince Arthur looked torn between amusement and nausea.

“A well-educated family of peasants? What is that? Was anything Edwin said about you today untrue?” Uther asked once everyone collected their offended sensibilities, giving Merlin a speculative look.

“No, your majesty, nor was what I said factually untrue, just presented with different emphasis than I might normally use. He was being flattering to me, but the hard facts stand,” Merlin confirmed. “I may lack experience and come from a very small and narrow existence, but I do learn quickly. What Prince Arthur said about my family is also true. We served as the village record keepers, my mother is an herbalist with custom on both sides of the border, we handled the tax man’s numbers, and my father taught our village a way to rebuild and repair houses with wychert to stay much warmer in winter with the same amount of fuel. This in addition to the work in the fields that everyone needed to help with to fill the storehouse. We are not high, but not as low as the simplest folk. It’s an uncomfortable place to be forced into that straddles class distinctions, but needed since Cenred does not care at all for his people.”

“Your father is the local leader, then, functioning as the local governance in the absence of a proper lord?” Sir Geoffrey asked. “I had noticed the bright, expensive dyes on your clothes and I asked Gaius about your upbringing shortly after you arrived. He said it was a long story and we never seemed to find the time to get back to it.”

“My father is - was - a good man,” Merlin told the floor. “I have his love of books and some of his skill with a whittling knife, but not his sword arm. He didn’t want to take the position of village leader because he was away frequently, though he did take up some of the slack in organizing certain things that Mathew didn’t have enough time for or that took a learned mind to do. He took a large cart of trading goods to market twice a year, to supplement what our poor soil could grow as much as he could, but there are no regular patrols on the roads. We never heard…” Merlin broke off and swiped at his eyes. “He’s been gone over two years, but I prefer not to talk about it, sir. I think Gaius feels the same.” There was an uncomfortable silence in the room for a moment.

“You have instructed the boy to study laws in testing his ability to read foreign languages?” Uther asked Arthur, pushing forward through the tension.

“Don’t misunderstand, father. Perhaps I should have mentioned this to you earlier, but I am optimistic about my decisions where Merlin is concerned and wished to see them through a little longer first,” Arthur began. He waved an arm as if presenting Merlin to them for the first time and began to talk.

“Merlin had an austere and religious upbringing that is unlike anything I have encountered. It is not the sort one would have in a village in the shadow of a monastery, but one born of hard times where everything happens according to god’s plan. He believes it was an act of divine intervention that gave him the strength and speed to save my life from the false Lady Helen. Since that led him to be in my service and he believes strongly in destiny, he takes a very specific view of his duty to me. I have responded to his special devotion to duty with the respect and gravity the circumstance deserves,” Arthur explained in what was clearly a rehearsed answer. “I fully expect that one day he will be to me what Sir Geoffrey or Gaius is - and was - to you, a man of specific skill and understanding capable of researching minute details so that I and others can remain focused on the wider picture.”

“You do this to shape him into something more than a simple servant?” Uther said with obvious confusion, giving Merlin a speculative glance.

“Yes, father, though I didn’t find him to be a simple servant from the start,” Arthur nodded. “He was quite well educated when he came to me, and it seemed a shame to waste the potential. My current aim is to test his limits in much the same way I test my knights, by pushing him until he can do no better. I know this may seem in some small way as if I am giving him treatment similar to a noble peer or younger brother, but that is not the case. He is my servant, a tool of mine first and always. I need to know what he is capable of to make the most use of him, and since it is his destiny to aid me he is happy to comply.” Merlin bowed to the seated nobles when they looked at him, as any verbal response would likely be taken as vanity. “He may lack even the smallest shred of common sense, coordination, or self-preservation, but that just means he needs strict direction in order to get anything done properly. He is self-aware enough to know that, and I am sure none of what I have just said surprises him in the least.”

“Is that so?” Uther asked, looking at Merlin. Merlin took it to mean the question was directed at him and picked up the line of reasoning. A small twist on the truth, easy enough after the trial he’d just been through.

“Your Majesty, I get distracted easily. I get caught in a never-ending cycle of discovering some new thing and then looking further into it only to be distracted by another discovery. Being a servant to the prince gives me clear goals,” Merlin said obediently. “Providence brought me to where I am and gave me this purpose. I was miserable when I was ill, not just from sickness but because I was at loose ends.”

“He should have been abed for another week or more, Father, that is obvious from his relapse, but he needed to work and not for the coin,” Arthur sighed. He gestured at Merlin, his expression and body language clearly expressing ‘what else can you do with the fool?’

“I think you have the situation well in hand, Prince Arthur,” Sir Geoffery spoke clearly, nodding in approval as he stood up to walk over to Merlin. “Merlin’s idle mind would have caused mischief otherwise, never mind his good intentions. I have seen how quickly he moves through his studies, even when he finds them dull and complains about them being tedious. I have also seen him get lost in some stray thought for long minutes and walk directly into a pillar in distraction. I am looking forward to seeing what he can become. Gaius was as well. Should we send someone after him, quietly? For all that he appeared the humble professional dedicated to his trade, Edwin’s unconventional desires have been made clear. I wonder if it was just a matter between professionals of differing generations or if his want of the boy had him stretch the facts in an effort to drive off our old friend so completely. I find the whole business off-putting, and it makes me wonder of the man’s other ambitions. Perhaps, the idea of having Gaius peek over Edwin’s shoulder from time to time has merit beyond merely keeping a beloved friend close at hand.”

“Yes,” Uther agreed. “Arthur, have a single rider find Gaius. In this circumstance we should not spare him the knowledge of what Edwin tried to do to his nephew.” Arthur stood and went to the door, but only spoke to the guards outside and didn’t leave.

“Merlin,” Sir Geoffrey added, giving the young man a critical looking over and a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “go fetch your papers. As Prince Arthur has officially reported his decision to patron your education to the King they will need to be amended. I do fear that my notation of them may have been overlooked. With the unorthodox events surrounding your hiring and the tournament just after, it is an understandable oversight.”

Merlin looked to the King, who waved him off. Uther was looking at Sir Geoffrey curiously, as was Arthur. Merlin bolted through the hallways and dug out the thin leather-wrapped sheaf of parchment that he kept safe at the bottom of a sticky drawer in his cupboard he was sure his magic wouldn’t yank open at night. He dawdled slightly, looking around his cozy little room and properly ordering his thoughts. He was racing back through the halls to the King’s rooms when he ran bodily into Edwin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Merlin scrambled, his magic snapping the priceless roll of paper back into his left hand before it hit the floor while offering his right to the older man. There was a smashed vial on the floor, and Edwin gave it a regretful look. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Is something the matter?” Edwin asked, looking up at Merlin. “I was worried after you left. You looked more like a man off to the gallows than to receive a reward, and now.” The man trailed off with a gesture.

“Well, the last time the King bestowed a reward on me it was the honor of washing Arthur’s socks,” Merlin quipped.

“Why did you accept it, then?” Edwin asked. “We both know you are better than scrubbing floors.” The man hadn’t let go of Merlin’s hand, but it was a loose hold. Merlin looked him over. Edwin _had_ asked permission before kissing him, and he knew Uther’s paranoia had a way of twisting everything. That didn’t mean he was happy with Edwin right now, in fact now that he’d had time to get over the shock of Uther’s assumptions and draw some of his own conclusions he was rather fantastically angry.

“They are amending my papers. I won’t just be a freeman, I’m… Prince Arthur is becoming my official patron and sponsoring my education as a physician from here on out,” Merlin seethed. “This should be the _best day of my life_ and the only family I had in the city is missing it because of you.”

“Oh,” Edwin looked like he’d been punched, his hands folding over one another. “I wish, but only for your sake. I understand better than you might think how it feels to accomplish something and miss a parent there to witness it. I quarreled badly with Gaius, as I’m sure you guessed. There are things he had done in the past that I cannot forgive him for. Truly, I had not expected him to leave so immediately. Can I make that up to you, or is this… the end of what could have been?”

“You aren’t exactly my favorite person right now,” Merlin took a deep breath to try and calm down. Why did Edwin have to be so nice about it? He whispered to keep his words from traveling down the hallway. “Were you angry about… how silent he was years ago?”

“What?” Edwin asked, a hint of alarm in his eyes making it clear he understood exactly what Merlin was talking about.

“It’s not hard to guess why someone like you would hate him by reputation alone. It’s complicated, and most of it isn’t widely known. I was upset when my mother lied about having sent my papers here in petition, pretending that Gaius asked me to come out of the blue, but we didn’t have enough coin for anything other than nepotism and people had started to notice me,” Merlin whispered.

“If you know, then, why do you care for him?” Edwin questioned.

“It’s complicated. Sometimes… you have to watch one person you know well die to save ten strangers,” Merlin said, thinking of Gwen’s father, thinking of those that would have lived if he’d found the source of the sickness a day earlier instead of wasting time learning how to heal one man. “Sometimes you have to compromise about one bad thing to ensure a worse one doesn’t happen. I learned that the hard way. Have you considered what it means that he left so fast after you threw that in his face? Edwin, he understands it too.”

“I considered it his apology, of a sort,” Edwin sighed. He gestured to the broken vial. “I need to replace that. I suppose fate is punishing me for being so narrowly focused, or perhaps too impatient. When this is over with and things settle down, I hope we can reconcile. I feel you have taught me something about reaching for everything I want at once.”

“Oh, I know that one like the back of my hand. The… Well. You should know the King thought it was extremely inappropriate. What he walked in on, I mean,” Merlin cautioned. “I told him you hadn’t done anything serious, but considering that as Court Physician you would be taking over my care and education I think he considers that you have too much power over me for it to be fully proper. It was just shy of an interrogation, the questions he asked.”

“Should I prepare myself for an interrogation?” Edwin asked warily.

“The Prince knows well enough that I speak my mind regardless of rank, and I think I made it clear that nothing really happened, but it’s the fact that it was beginning to happen at all that he disproves of. You should prepare for a very critical eye hovering over your shoulder the next few days. It’s true I have been very ill for several weeks now, though I’m doing better. The Prince in particular is a bit protective of me since then, though I want to be very clear: there is nothing going on there. I’m not… Well, there is a girl in the kitchens, but it isn’t romantic. Just traded favors, you know, since I have access to fresh herbs all the time and she’s too low in the hierarchy to have free reign of the spice rack.”

“You would trade her for me?” Edwin asked carefully.

“You aren’t my favorite person today by a long shot,” Merlin repeated with venom, “and the King has a point about the balance of power.”

“There is no imbalance between us,” Edwin said immediately. The man looked up and down the hallway. There weren’t many guards in the back hallways at this time of day, as it was in the middle of their dinner rotation and the switch from day posts to night watch was focused on keeping the more valuable parts of the citadel protected. Edwin reached out to take Merlin’s hand. A flutter of magic touched his palm. It felt tiny, and when Merlin tried to answer in kind Edwin swayed a little. Merlin had overrun him. Edwin licked his lips, looking at Merlin with a touch of awe. “Or only in your favor. I wasn’t being patronizing before, when I noticed your magic. I meant that we could share this, come to work together. The chance for something deeper, I hadn’t imagined that before it happened, but I had hoped it wouldn’t wither so fast.”

“I’ll think about it,” Merlin allowed, a bit startled at how easily he’d pushed Edwin’s flicker of magic aside. It was so easy, since here in Camelot he didn’t have anyone to measure against, to forget that he was so strange even among his own kind. The way the druids reacted to him when they passed by Ealdor on their yearly migrations had always made him uncomfortable. “For now, I have to get these papers to Sir Geoffrey.”

“Then I will say congratulations, and… when we celebrate the events of this evening, I will be civil to Gaius. I’m certain he will return when the news reaches him,” Edwin promised.

Merlin was allowed back into the sitting room as soon as he knocked. Most of the men had left. Only Sir Geoffrey, Prince Arthur, and the King remained. Sir Geoffrey took Merlin’s papers and laid them out, fussing with his reading glass. They were all copies made in his mother’s delicate hand as the village record keeper, though there were a few marks of witnesses as needed. The royals looked between the papers and Merlin.

“You really are a freeman?” Arthur asked incredulously. Sir Geoffrey must have explained some of it while Merlin was out of the room.

“Yes,” Merlin answered. “How else would a skilled commoner be able to move from Essetir to Camelot legally?”

“It was Queen Ygraine,” Sir Geoffrey said, holding up the relevant pages as he went. “She freed Merlin’s grandmother, Gaius’ half-sister, while she was still Lady Du Bois based on his good service to her and her family on the occasion of her mother’s passing. She wed a retired knight - in a bit of a scandal if memory serves. His mother Hunith retained her status even though she left Camelot, and she wed… ah, no, hand fasted the freeman Jaybird for a time, then she later wed him. Then… oh, these dates. Sorry, lad, I’d forgotten about that. A bit out of order, but all resolved in the end. This is the record for Merlin himself, you said Matthew is the current village leader, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is out of order?” The King asked, picking up the pages that Geoffrey had shuffled and set aside.

“He traveled the roads as a trader, your majesty, but Mother stayed behind in Ealdor,” Merlin explained, looking into Arthur’s eyes and silently begging him to step in. “When he left for a long journey at the end of their year of hand-fasting I wasn’t anything more than a sparkle in my mother’s eye. It took him much longer than expected to come home from his trip abroad.”

“Nearly seven years of engagement,” The King said, mocking, “most of which he was abroad for, and when he found his woman with a surprise child he wed her and claimed the bastard?”

“Sire, I do not take my looks from my mother’s family at all, and a hand-fasting is much more than a simple promise,” Merlin said defensively. “I was never a bastard.”

“I see why you don’t like talking about it,” Arthur jumped in to move things along. “Old village gossip aside, it is all in order now, right Sir Geoffrey?”

“Witnessed and documented, all in the fashion of a small village of course, but yes. All properly in order, including a copy of the petition she sent to Gaius listing out the lad’s merits. Merlin was neither serf nor slave, and taking him into Arthur’s household was no theft against King Cenred. If I may overstep my usual field of expertise and speak in Gaius’ place as the boy’s advocate: It speaks well of his motivations that Merlin accepted the position as Arthur’s servant with grace. He could have argued with you, Sire, that as a freeman it was not a just reward to put him in such a low station. It proves Arthur’s assessment of the boy’s beliefs correct.”

“It is rare to find a farm boy who can read more than his own name,” King Uther allowed, reading Merlin’s letter of petition with clear disbelief. “It is almost unheard of for one to be properly educated in more than the barest basics. Why was this not brought to my attention before?”

“As I said, Sire, I believe the notation on the relevant documents was overlooked due to how busy things were at the time. There had been an assassination attempt, and the tournament began shortly after. One unorthodox line of text on such a routine and unimportant document?” Sir Geoffrey shrugged it off. “Now that Prince Arthur has announced his intention to be the boy’s educational patron, however, I have a duty to make the relevant adjustments and file my own copies of these documents accordingly. Since he is not a serf, this all needs to be properly drawn up.”

“Yes, see that it is all put into proper order, and have the boy _properly_ instructed as to the customs expected from his place,” the King directed. “You are all dismissed.” The King picked up a paper from the table in front of him to read as Sir Geoffrey and the prince stood. Merlin stepped forward to offer Sir Geoffrey help in gathering up his papers.

“Merlin, before you go,” Sir Geoffrey gently called his attention. He was standing close, his hand hovering at Merlin’s shoulder. “Some pleasures are not voluntary, but occur in the body as a matter of simple function. Do not feel shame from that, it was not under your control. As a student of medicine, you know this.”

“Yes, sir, and thank you for reminding me,” Merlin responded, twitching his head in a generally affirmative and mostly nervous gesture. It hadn’t felt involuntary at the time. That didn’t mean he felt good about it now, but that was something he had to think about some more. Merlin caught the King’s eye, making sure he was being heard. “Though, after talking about it and having some time to think while I was fetching the papers for you, I just don’t see what Edwin did fully in that light. What he might have tried to do we’ll never know and can’t hold against him. I had a chance to say no right before he kissed me, and I let him do it. I also could have told someone right after, and I didn’t. I may not like that he chased Gaius off, and I’m certainly angry at him for trying to twist me around by that handle when I was cross at him over it, but even so, I did not ever directly tell him to stop, and I did enjoy it the first time.”

“Hush, lad, you are confusing yourself,” Sir Geoffrey shushed him. “While he may have appeared to give you that chance, by that point he’d already laid fevered hands on you, and boys your age are easily molded in such heat. Edwin took advantage of your accommodating nature, he manipulated events so that you had need of him, and he stripped you of your guardian before you had chance to seek guidance on the matter. Whatever token choice he offered you after the fact, do not take it as sincere. He would have pursued you further as long as he held power over your life, and I shudder to think what may have happened this afternoon had you not been interrupted.”

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur beckoned, “let’s see if the steward has your new bed in place.”

“Gaius left me a lot of things, mostly books and spare tools,” Merlin said as he followed Arthur out. “It’ll take me hours to pack everything up and move it across the castle.”

“You’ll have a chance to do it tomorrow, or Gaius will come back and you won’t have to,” Arthur assured as the door closed.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

They went directly to Arthur’s chambers. The antechamber was still set up as a storage area for various trinkets, seasonal items, and hunting trophies Arthur had collected rather than as a manservant’s bedroom. Merlin and Arthur were standing in Arthur’s front room, having a discussion just short of an argument over the appropriateness of Merlin sleeping on the thick hearth rug and how violated Merlin ought to feel. Merlin was perfectly fine going back to his old room. Arthur was being ridiculous about Merlin losing control of his magic due to his ‘sensitive emotional state.’ A page boy Merlin didn’t recognize burst in, shouting that The King had Lady Morgana’s illness. As soon as the boy ran off Merlin turned and grabbed at Arthur’s waist, causing the prince to squeak out a sound that Merlin would certainly tease him about later. A few soft words and the hilt of Arthur’s dagger glowed blue for a moment. This was a weaker and much less obvious enchantment, but would let the dagger block things it shouldn’t normally.

“Just in case you find the handsy creep before I do; he could only have healed Morgana so quickly with magic,” Merlin said. They took off in opposite directions, Merlin going to Edwin’s room while Arthur went to head off a possible escape.

There was a ring of fire on the floor when Merlin burst into the new physician’s chambers. Gaius stood in the center with his back to a pillar as if he’d been set up to burn on a pyre. Edwin was standing at the window, cautiously watching the flames.

“What are you doing?” Merlin demanded, not entirely sure which one he was asking.

“He’s trying to kill the king. I couldn’t let him,” Gaius urgently explained.

“I can rule the kingdom now. Emrys, with you at my side we could be all-powerful,” Edwin must have thought he was being enticing, and if he wasn’t about to burn Gaius Merlin might have been willing to talk, but flirting while committing murder was beyond creepy.

“Release him,” Merlin demanded.

“It’s your loss,” Edwin said, the sweetness he’d used when he spoke to him replaced by something cold. A hatchet came off the wall and flew at Merlin’s head. Merlin pushed back, even as he bent out of the way he grabbed control of the weapon. He expected to have to struggle for control, but even with Edwin casting the spell again out loud it was easily done. Merlin flipped the hatchet around to crack open Edwin’s head like a melon, the magically-enhanced blade sliding through his flinching face at an angle and biting into his neck. The flames died with him.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked Gaius after a moment, pointedly not looking at the dead body under the window. Gaius was looking at it.

“Yes,” the older man said, stunned. “Thank you, Merlin.” Merlin’s eyes tracked back across the room, but not to the body. He rushed to the table and got the box of beetles. “What are you doing?”

“Uther is ill, the same thing Morgana had. Edwin said he used these to cure Morgana, maybe we can too,” Merlin hoped. Gaius stopped looking at the body and came over to look in the box.

“Elanthia beetles.”

“They’re magical?” Merlin asked. His attention wavered now that Gaius seemed to have the answer and he cast a glance of his own at the body. There was a lot of blood inside a head, and it had gotten all over. One of the arteries had sprayed a jet of red across the wall. He swallowed down his nausea and forced himself to pay attention to what Gaius was explaining.

“Yes, they can be enchanted to enter the brain, feed on it until they devour the person’s very soul. We must go to him,” Gaius urged, and they hurried out of the room.

“Merlin, did… Gaius!” Arthur shouted from down the hallway.

“No time to explain,” Merlin insisted, not stopping.

“We’ll take care of the king,” Gaius added as he hurried as fast as his old legs could carry him. Arthur slowed and made to follow.

“Can you take care of what I did with Edwin?” Merlin said with a backwards wave at the room they’d just left. “He tried to kill Gaius.”

“What?” Arthur said, charging past them to confront Edwin. They were nearly too far down the hall to hear the prince’s shout: “Did you hit him with an ax?!”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin felt like this was a test. Gaius had no idea how to control the beetles, it was down to Merlin’s magic and memory. He knelt on the soft bed, cradling the king’s head in his hands. If he couldn’t do this, Uther would die. Edwin believed it would return magic to the land if Uther died. Kilgharrah saw Albion coming sooner than ever, waiting only for Arthur to be crowned king. Gaius said it was Merlin’s right. As if this was a judgment he could render. Uther would kill Merlin for using magic, and… Merlin could choose to respect the law or not. An evil law that he broke with every breath he took. It wasn’t much of a choice if he’d hate himself the rest of his life for not trying. He recited the spell to awaken the beetles, willed it to leave the King, and added the word to quiet them. The tiny thing crawled passively out into Merlin’s hand. It used so little magic it was laughable.

“Has anyone told you you’re a genius?” Gaius asked.

“You certainly haven’t,” Merlin took shelter in sarcasm, and they laughed as little as the tension broke. Uther started to stir. Merlin stuffed the beetle back in its box. He helped Gaius settle the king back to restful sleep, assisting in checking his vitals and fetching some supplies. He took the box with him when he left the room, setting it inside the ash can in their chambers with a heavy book on top until he had time to burn them properly.

Three days later, Merlin attended the ceremony officially reinstating Gaius as Court Physician and naming him a freedman. He was happy to let Gaius take the credit for saving the king, but Arthur had ensured Merlin wasn’t forgotten. Merlin wore a new blue tunic with fancy red trim, the ratty red neckerchief he refused to give up, a sturdy new belt with a buckle finer than any he’d had before, crisp new trousers, and an enormous grin. His fine clothes fit him well now and that accented how thin he was, but they also had quite a bit of extra in all the seams for when he filled out. Everyone (including Arthur) thought he’d cut Edwin down by swinging the ax with his arm instead of throwing it with his magic, saving Gaius from the sorcerer’s devious machinations and thereby allowing Gaius to save the King.

Making a free man a servant was a minor breech of the social order, and Arthur tried and failed to resolve that issue. In the end Merlin remained Arthur’s manservant because either he wasn’t qualified for any other post that would keep him close to Arthur, or Arthur didn’t yet have the authority to put him in such a place. Positions that didn’t let Arthur keep close watch over Merlin (and vice-versa, not that Arthur acknowledged how vulnerable Merlin thought Arthur was to magical attack) were simply unacceptable. They had gone over their options and discarded them one after another until Merlin finally insisted they just left the situation as it was. The page boys came back under Merlin’s control permanently. Merlin had a very bazaar hour where Holden, the castle steward, explained to the three of them that the boys were now working for Prince Arthur _and_ Merlin, not just Prince Arthur through Merlin. He did suspect that this vicarious outrage over social status would not save him the next time Arthur was irritated enough to send him to muck out the stables. Merlin was suddenly being paid more, a decent sum by his estimation though with prices in Camelot being so high he still had to watch his spending carefully. Publicly, this was solely because Arthur noticed he was classed as a free man instead of a serf, but then Arthur explained privately that it was also because of Merlin’s special talents and the additional duties and burdens Arthur placed on him. He immediately spent the savings he’d hoarded over the last months to send a letter and small jar of honey to his mother telling her of all the publicly known developments, confident that with his higher wage he wouldn’t miss it for long.

When asked by the other staff why he hadn’t kicked up a fuss, Merlin answered truthfully that he hadn’t known that he should. He was then given some extra law codes to study. Camelot and Essetir had slightly different laws about Freedmen, and it wasn’t just the right to free travel and trade he’d been used to. It was an entirely separate social stratum, bang in uncomfortable not-noble-not-common limbo, with a full set of who to defer to and how and what was polite in various social situations. According to Gaius, most of the people in that social layer used to be families of highly skilled tradesmen, merchants, and talented sorcerers. Other than traveling merchants, it was rapidly dying out as very few new households were being made free and the old ones had either been executed (many on the back of weak testimony by nobles unhappy with a contract) or married back into serfdom.

The fear of offending a noble in this new age of witch burning had quashed many of the social niceties freedmen had enjoyed. The current nobility in Camelot and beyond generally kept their valued tradesmen as property one way or another so they couldn’t be lured away to foreign courts without their lord’s written consent, something Merlin thought they would be less likely to do if they were happy in their lot and weren’t afraid of being burnt for some trumped-up offense. All that together made the difference between freedmen and serfs seem functionally the same to Merlin no matter what all those dusty etiquette books said. Neither the prince nor Sir Geoffrey agreed with Merlin about that, but when Giaus just shrugged and said the application of the law was not always according to its literal meaning they grudgingly conceded the point.

Everything was going great. So of course, the very next evening the man sent out to fetch Gaius realized that since the physician had returned on his own and had not been intercepted, no one had officially informed him of what Edwin had supposedly done to Merlin. Of course, this revelation had to happen while Gwen was picking up Morgana’s sleeping draft and Merlin was trying to use the fact that he was busy heating up their dinner to avoid talking to her. He’d been so focused on not paying anything outside the pot any attention that it wasn’t until Gaius squawked that he noticed the soldier in the room. The word rape was completely uncalled for, especially with a woman in the room.

“Oh, go, just go, will you!” Merlin huffed. “The man’s dead, there isn’t any point in making him more of a monster than he was.”

“He dared…” Gaius fumed.

“He thought about it,” Merlin corrected, walking over to push the guardsman out of the room. “I was saved by the King of all people walking in on it. There, all out in the open, you’ve done your job, if you need a tonic to return your sense of common decency I’m afraid we’re fresh out. Goodbye!” He turned from the door to see Gwen still in the room, and lifted his arm to invite her to leave.

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen said with pity, stepping forward and giving him a hug.

“Not a hug, I’m not hugging. I’m showing you the door,” Merlin snipped. She looked a little confused as she stepped back. “The open door, which you can use. Now, so I can close it.”

“Merlin, there is no need to take it out on Gwen,” Gaius scolded, and Merlin finally reached his limit.

“I’m not taking anything out on Gwen, because there isn’t anything to take out. I’m exactly as irritated as I ever am when she decides to remember I’m male for twenty seconds before forgetting again,” Merlin sassed, then turned to where Gwen was still looking at him in confusion. “But I am a bit stressed, so if you start sputtering about never intentionally flirting with me despite having flirted with me more often than could possibly be accidental _again_ I might do something properly horrible about it. I got it the first time, you’d rather spend an evening with a moldy pickle, but you don’t have to keep repeating it every time you do something friendly or give me a compliment. I’m not attracted to you that way either, or anymore, but I don’t think the difference mattered much after the first week.”

“Merlin, I like you. Well you know, not…,” Gwen started up.

“No, out! I thought I was over this, but I’m really not, and not just because you are _doing it again right now_. Can we do this later? You’re actually a really good friend when you aren’t making me feel two inches tall, but I’ve got something else on my mind,” Merlin said, using the same tactic he used on the soldier and pushing her out the door. He was a bit gentler, but only because she wasn’t wrapped in chain mail. He shut the door in her face, which was rather rude, but so was insisting on staying when someone was escorting you out of their home.

“A moldy pickle?” Gaius asked, giving him the eyebrow.

“Alice from the kitchens likes my pickle just fine,” Merlin bragged a bit, but then he noticed Gaius’ flattened expression. “Not that we’ve gotten that far, or will. I like her pastries and she thinks my hair is soft. Also, I get her fresh herbs since she doesn’t have free access to the spice rack. We barely talk. It’s just some kissing, really.”

“Ah, well, at your age,” Gaius said wistfully as Merlin pulled the pot of soup off the fire. “What did Edwin do?”

“Not much more than Gwen has, and you saw the high point of that romance yourself,” Merlin sighed. “Just, his hand got places it shouldn’t have.”

“How did he take it when you pushed him off?” Gaius asked.

“I didn’t,” Merlin admitted. “It was stupid, but I actually thought he was interested and didn’t mind that first day. After I thought about it, after Uther walked in on him about to kiss me again to make me less upset that you were leaving and brought me to a closed council meeting to grill me about how voluntary my participation was, I started thinking the whole thing was some kind of transaction.”

“A man interested in you didn’t bother you?” Gaius asked pointedly.

“Should it?”

“Some would say yes, and it’s not something talked about in polite society. Not in the cities, anyway. On the other hand, it’s more common than you might think even here,” Gaius assured. “Tell me about it.”

“I knew he was a sorcerer. The beetles reacted to me when I picked up the box in curiosity and when he caught me he revealed his magic by showing me a couple spells. Just quieting the beetles and cleaning up some powder I spilled. He said he used healing magic on Morgana, like I said before. I thought I’d found another peaceful sorcerer, someone like-minded,” Merlin explained quietly.

“You liked him?” Gaius asked, devoid of inflection.

“I… the things he did later make it hard to think about. I was hurt and angry when he chased you off. When we’d first talked I had reacted, uh, you know,” Merlin pointed at his lap. “We’d been talking about the beauty of magic and how we could share it, study it together, and he was standing close to me so we wouldn’t be overheard. He said he thought I was being held back, and,” Merlin broke off to try and remember what order things happened in and to stick to what he’d felt about it at the time. “He was passionate about magic, but not crazy. I didn’t think so at the time, anyway. I didn’t feel scared or threatened. Between his limp and my own clumsiness, he bumped into me and noticed.” Merlin made another downward gesture. “If he faked his reaction to that, I’ll eat my boot.”

“What was his reaction?” Gaius asked, ladling out the soup. Merlin fidgeted around in his seat.

“He blushed and pulled the cloak up to hide the burned part of his face. He hadn’t been hiding it from me before. Said he was surprised, but that it was fine. Moved so we wouldn’t accidentally touch again. He was embarrassed and polite, but said he was flattered. We got close again for a moment, and his hand, uh, got places. I mentioned I wasn’t comfortable, that I thought I might be too young for him, and he backed off like I’d slapped him. After we sorted that it wasn’t completely outrageous, he asked permission. Not explicitly, but I understood what he was asking. When I gave it, he kissed me. That was the first day, before I knew he’d be replacing you, of course. It wasn’t… he didn’t… It wasn’t aggressive, Gaius. Warm, but not… do you know what I’m trying to say?”

“He treated you like a proper gentleman at first,” Gaius said with difficulty.

“It’s hard to tell, what things did he say so I wouldn’t get mixed up in what he was doing and what things did he really mean? Was he just keeping me distracted? He apologized for scaring you off after he realized how much I cared about you, but even that was self-serving in the end.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said with a sad expression, “You are angry with Gwen because she seems to flirt with you and doesn’t mean it.”

“No one seems to mean it. Alice only ever talks about the herbs she’d like me to get and how impressive my position in the royal household is,” Merlin sighed.

“Mm, I thought that was what you were thinking. Sometimes you think too much, my boy. It is possible that Edwin, for whatever lies he may have told about other things or other motivations he may have had, was honestly attracted to you, Merlin. He did offer to make you his Queen in the end,” Gaius shrugged. It should have been a joke, or easily made into one. Something to laugh it off, but he couldn’t.

“Yeah, he did. Less than a minute later he came at me with an ax,” Merlin lamented. “The second time we spoke, after you’d packed, there was… He was so glad to see me again, before I told him I was angry. I walked in the room and he smiled like,” Merlin cut himself off and dropped his face into his hands. “He refused to speak ill of you, even though he said flat out that he’d never get along with you, because I cared about you and he didn’t want to taint that. He apologized, he really apologized while looking me straight in the eye, for hurting me with what he was doing. He didn’t apologize for doing it, and I didn’t know what he was actually doing at the time, but he was sorry that he hurt me along the way and said he hoped we could celebrate later on. Celebrate the King’s murder, he meant, as if I’d sit down to a romantic dinner with someone like that.”

“It would be easy to tell you he was just manipulating you, because to some extent he was,” Gaius spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “It would be simpler, to say he was keeping you quiet and happy, but you are my ward and a servant. He could have dismissed you out of hand, and anything you said you saw would be discounted. I could reassure you he was a monster, and say he delighted in twisting people around, but I don’t know if that is really true. His motivation was simple revenge for the death of his parents. In the end, I think any of that would be a disservice to you, and to the intelligence you displayed the other day. Merlin, people are not always black and white. A thief may steal because his children are starving and he can not provide for them despite his best efforts. Even murderers have people they cherish, and who love them.”

“So, Edwin might have meant it, when he…” Merlin trailed off uncomfortably.

“Do you think he did?” Gaius asked pointedly.

“Yes,” Merlin mumbled.

“Then he probably did find you attractive, and that was why he chose to treat you the way he did. He also hated Uther Pendragon, and thought I am a traitor to magic for serving him. People can hold very different and even contradictory emotions in their hearts,” Gaius soothed, but his eyes focused somewhere in the far corner of the room and his next words reminded Merlin starkly of the other father figure in his life. He wasn’t sure Gaius was only talking about Edwin anymore. “We can see someone do things we don’t agree with at all, yet if we’ve known them and counted them a friend or more, still hold love and respect in our hearts for them. You only knew him a short time, so everything was new and the connection was not strong. The betrayal you feel will fade quickly. The most important thing to remember is that he made his own choices, and you could not have done anything to change them. Your earlier decisions were made without knowing his true character and you have nothing to feel ashamed of.”

“Thanks Gaius,” Merlin said, digging in to his dinner. “That’s actually a lot more comforting than the other thing.”

“Everyone makes a few poor choices when it comes to matters of the heart in their youth, it’s a given part of adolescence. Just don’t forget when you apologize to Guenevere that you deserve to show yourself the same compassion,” Gaius soothed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since one of the things I changed is how honest Merlin is about his non-magical skills and how realistic a farm boy knowing how to read in the 5th-6th century is, I'm also adding the necessary amount of realism about serfs, slaves, free men, and nobles.


	9. The Gates of Avalon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur both go through some drama in their love lives. Episode Tag.

It was another few days of thinking about how to say what he needed to without making a bigger mess of things before Merlin decided to hunt down Gwen. He crossed paths with her in the laundry. For once she was the one trying to duck him, but he cornered her when she went to sneak into the main hallway instead of using the servant’s corridor.

“Just let me say I’m sorry properly, please,” Merlin urged, setting the basket of laundry down. The thing got heavy after several flights of stairs.

“Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing?” Gwen asked, looking at him with sad eyes. “Everyone says I led you on, dumped you on the midden, then tried to have you back when it suited me.”

“Well, actually, that’s not completely wrong, but we both know it isn’t completely right either, is it? Look, it doesn’t change that I was angry about something else and shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. This, whatever it was where you kissed me the once and the flower and all that. It was a mess. It was never not going to be a mess. You did make it very clear that you don’t find me attractive from the beginning,” Merlin assured.

“But I was, or I did. After what you did for me it just seemed I should, and I wanted to. A bit. You are nice, just not for me. I was actually flirting with you, but it always came out so wrong. It just…” Gwen sighed.

“It just sailed as well as a ship made of lead,” Merlin finished. Gwen nodded. “We can just forget the whole mess and be friends. You don’t have to worry about justifying every kind word or favor, afraid that I’ll expect you to kiss me again if I smile at you too much,” Merlin assured. “I really won’t. I’m not interested in chasing someone who doesn’t want me after them, and that whole coy game just puts me off something terrible. I think I made that pretty clear the last time we spoke, even if I wasn’t as polite about it as I should have been. Can we go back to being friends now?”

“Yes, friends. Proper friends,” Gwen agreed, relieved. Merlin stuck out his hand. She shifted the basket she was carrying and shook it once.

“A fresh start for an uncomplicated friendship,” Merlin announced. Gwen laughed at his ridiculousness.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Gwen mock-threatened. “So, did you hear about Sam? The Sam that is a squire, not old Sam. He got caught with an entire barrel of gin in his room.”

“What? How did he even get it up that narrow stairway?” Merlin laughed, picking up his basket and falling into step to catch up on the gossip he’d missed while brooding the last couple of days.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

“You are grumpy today, Merlin,” Arthur observed the next morning. “But it won’t get you out of going hunting with me.”

“I made up with Gwen. We’re just friends now, thank goodness,” Merlin sighed.

“This is a bad thing?” Arthur said as if he didn’t care, his face pinching in a curious expression that told Merlin ‘I have to pretend like I’m not interested in this peasant gossip, but I’m bored, and you tell stories well.’ Merlin was coming to understand Arthur’s facial expression was more important than his tone of voice a lot of the time.

“Alice from the kitchens says men and women of the same age can’t be friends,” Merlin explained. “So now she’s decided she can’t feed me honey buns anymore, and I’ve somehow lost the right to kiss her.”

“Really?” Arthur laughed at him. “You’ve been kissing one of the cooks?”

“Well you all but gift-wrapped me and served me up on a platter to them,” Merlin reminded Arthur as he gathered up the hunting supplies. “Between their offended professional pride and no small amount of pity over how bony I am it became some kind of contest to see who could best feed me up. Alice decided to cheat, and I wasn’t inclined to complain.”

“And now because you are friends with Gwen you’ve lost access to your special sweets?” Arthur said with a wink.

“It wasn’t like that,” Merlin complained. “And they were really good buns.”

“Tell me more about her ‘buns,’” Arthur snickered, reaching up with his hands in a lewd, grabby gesture.

“It really was simple: I brought her fresh herbs to practice recipes with and she let me kiss her a bit,” Merlin insisted. “It wasn’t anything more than that, and it’s not like trading gossip with Gwen means I’ll enjoy her cooking less. Why do girls make these things so complicated?”

“It’s meant to be complicated,” Arthur said as he put on his jacket. “It’s like a puzzle game or a tournament, with her heart as the prize. Every woman has different desires, and fashions her tests after them.”

“That sounds like something my Mother would wash my mouth out for repeating,” Merlin criticized, realizing that he probably could have asked Arthur for advice about girls back when he was ducking through the halls like a hunted stag. In the worst case, he could have just done the opposite of whatever Arthur suggested.

“It’s true,” Arthur insisted. “This Alice wanted to know if she was more important to you than Gwen. You told her she wasn’t, so no more honey for you.”

“That’s dumb,” Merlin dismissed. “I told her Gwen and I were just friends now, and that Gwen didn’t care who I kissed.”

“What’s dumb was not telling Alice she was more important,” Arthur chided.

“It’s not like we were in love,” Merlin complained. “We barely spoke three words to one another at a time.”

“Wait, what?” Arthur said, swinging around to give Merlin an appraising look. “So, you just, what, stripped naked without even saying hello?”

“No! Nothing like that. It was just what I said,” Merlin insisted as he shouldered the heavy bag of supplies. “It wasn’t anything serious, no more than my first Beltane. Honestly, the one day I had with Edwin before I realized he was insane was more romantic. If it had been I’d understand why she got suspicious about Gwen, but it wasn’t. Just, a bit of kissing, until we both feel good about it, no complicated romance or promises, and then back to work. I might have done better not to say that directly to Alice, though.”

“Merlin, you are the biggest idiot I have ever met,” Arthur declared, an amused smile on his face. “Come on, the deer don’t care about your nonexistent love life.”

“Oi, it’s only been nonexistent for one day,” Merlin shot back, hurrying after him.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin didn’t notice something was off until much later than he should have. It wasn’t like Arthur to shirk his duties, but Arthur seemed to be truly in love and it was very satisfying to see Arthur so happy. Then again, Gaius might have said something a bit earlier and saved Merlin at least one morning in the stocks. Thinking about it a third way, Arthur could have realized that if Merlin did manage to artfully cover for him then Merlin’s more important cover of being a talking library with no common sense would be in danger. Not that he’d intentionally gotten himself thrown in the stocks three days in a row, of course, but when it came to doing anything that didn’t have to do with herbs or magic Merlin usually stumbled through less than gracefully. In fact, it really was all Arthur’s fault because if he couldn’t recognize when someone was casting a spell on him as blatantly as Sophia seemed to have done, he deserved what he got.

Merlin had to haul his incredibly heavy armor-wrapped royal ass out of a lake without drowning them both, his magic helping to lighten the load but not by nearly enough, and the effort had made him vomit. Merlin had also been blasted half to death with a weapon that could instantly incinerate people and survived. He’d been trying rather desperately all night not to think about how he knew what that staff could do and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. When he finally woke up the next morning, Arthur was so appalled by his own actions he didn’t even ask for details. That it involved sorcery was clearly understood as subtext. After Arthur was dressed he mentioned that Merlin looked ill again. Merlin reminded Arthur that they had just agreed never to talk about what happened, then admitted he had a very bad night. Arthur sat down to a quick breakfast while Merlin boiled a kettle of water over the fire in the hopes of perking himself up. Jimmy, the younger blond page that worked for them, rushed into the room just before Merlin’s medicinal tea was ready and told them the King wanted them in the throne room immediately.

The King took his time ranting about the Prince’s responsibilities and once again demanded an explanation for Arthur’s absence from his morning duties. With everything else Merlin had dealt with the last few days, he had exhausted himself - especially his supply of good will - and wanted nothing more than his by-now-cold cup of medicinal tea and a nap. Particularly after that ‘you are my servant not my friend’ jab from yesterday. Where had the ‘help me with Sophia and you’ll be a friend for life’ business gone so quickly? Arthur may not want people thinking someone as sickly or stick-thin as Merlin could knock him out, that was fair enough, but whatever excuse the prince came up with had better not land Merlin in the stocks again.

“When you failed to show up for patrol this morning, I feared you’d eloped with Sophia in a fit of passion,” The King prompted. When Arthur looked at him expectantly Merlin did the only sensible thing and blinked twice like a deaf mute.

“After Sophia left, I wanted to take my mind off her, so I went for a hunt,” Arthur started to explain.

“And killing things mends a broken heart?” Lady Morgana asked critically.

“No, but it’s good fun. Merlin was meant to inform you…”

“No, I refuse. I learned my lesson about taking your lumps. You can have today’s round in the stocks. I can barely feel my arms because of what you did with Sophia last night as it is,” Merlin interrupted. Arthur started to say something affronted, but the King hushed him with a gesture and fixed Merlin with a damning stare.

“What really happened last night?” The King demanded.

“Prince Arthur went out with Sophia last evening,” Merlin spoke with the air of telling someone something they already knew and just needed to have confirmed, “as I’m sure the guard who was watching the gate last evening already told you. She wanted to elope; he had sense enough to tell her no, but he wasn’t very assertive about it. At that point it was rather late so when he told me to gather his hunting supplies at the same moment Sophia was packing to leave I told him to pull the other one, sent Jimmy and Francis to bed, and sat down with my own dinner in the antechamber like a sensible person.” The sarcasm was nearly dripping off Merlin at this point as he wove his false tale. “At some point Arthur forgot his good sense and agreed to get extremely drunk with Sophia on the bank of a lake. I had followed him when I noticed he was missing, hoping to talk him down from whatever he was thinking of doing. I ran into her Father in the woods and eventually we found the pair of them completely out of their heads. I scraped Arthur up and dragged him back here. Literally. In full armor soaked in swampy water, as at some point they had decided to go for a swim and nearly drown each other. I highly doubt that went unnoticed by the guards either, especially considering two of them took pity on my skinny arms and helped me haul him up the stairs, which I am sure they informed you of this morning when you started asking where he was. I know for a fact he was in bed dead to the world until about half an hour ago, as I sat up all night with Gauis making sure the water I forced out of his lungs hadn’t done him permanent harm.” The king turned slowly away from Merlin, fixing his gaze on his son.

“Well, he _was_ supposed to tell you I’d gone hunting,” Arthur said, somewhat accusatory.

“When you woke I only agreed never to speak of exactly how I got you to leave your lady love, and nothing else,” Merlin was quick to point out, arms crossed. “So many people saw me drag you back here that it isn’t like the King didn’t already know how you came home last night.”

“And how, exactly, did you get him to listen to you?” The King predictably asked.

“Your Majesty, I made a promise,” Merlin said solemnly.

“As your King, I order you to answer.” Merlin gave Arthur a brief apologetic look.

“Aulfric came up behind his daughter to drag her off, and I clubbed Arthur on the back of the head with a lump of wood while he was distracted,” Merlin said, quietly enough that the whole room wouldn’t hear.

“You had to literally knock the sense back into him?” The king said, much louder. Merlin just shrugged and refused to meet Arthur’s livid glare.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin didn’t think he could move. Arthur had been forbidden to leave his chambers except to see to his duties for three days. Those duties included training the knights, and Merlin had been made into a living training dummy for most of the day even though he was clearly too exhausted to be much use. His arms ached from the sword training, his legs ached from running from one task to the next without a break, his back ached from the heavy targets, and frankly some rather delicate areas around his joints and loins hurt from the ill-fitting straps of the ancient set of tatty armor he was permitted to wear, and he had two more days of this promised to him. He ate his dinner slowly, the weight of the spoon almost too much for his arms at this point. He’d missed dinner last night keeping Arthur alive and lunch today while being tortured by his sadistic Prince, so the acute need for food kept him slowly moving his arm. He’d have fed himself using magic if Gaius wasn’t right there waiting to scold him for being irresponsible.

Lady Morgana came to fetch her sleeping draft instead of sending Gwen, and Merlin tried his best not to exist. He didn’t know what to do about Morgana being a seer. She was like him, born with a special talent and possibly magic as well, but even with his slightly elevated social status he didn’t have the right to start a conversation with her even if he knew how. She talked a little with Gaius, and Merlin tried to be polite by keeping his focus on the little metal bowl in front of him.

“Arthur told me more about what happened,” Lady Morgana said suddenly. “He can hardly remember the last couple days. You must have hit him round the head really hard.” Perhaps she wasn’t only talking to Gaius, and Merlin looked up at her. She hadn’t come into the room any further than where Merlin was sitting, making his inclusion in the conversation rather obvious now that he wasn’t pretending to be fascinated by his dinner.

“Yeah, I feel really bad about that,” Merlin said the first thing that came to mind. She looked ready to say something else, a worried look on her pretty face. Merlin gave her an encouraging smile. Being magic in Camelot was a stressful and lonely thing.

“Remember,” Gaius interrupted, “Every night just before you go to sleep.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Lady Morgana replied and left the room fast enough Merlin wondered if she was nervous. Merlin watched her go, unsure of what she would have said.

“She must never find out the truth,” Gaius warned Merlin after the door closed.

“Why not? She had a premonition that helped save Arthur’s life,” Merlin argued.

“And it could cost her her own. If Uther found out, things would never be the same again. It must remain a secret,” Gaius urged.

“Is she like me? Can she use magic?” Merlin asked.

“No one’s like you, Merlin,” Gaius sighed.

“But she has the gift?” Merlin asked, insistent and hopeful.

“For her sake, I hope not.”


	10. The Beginning of Something Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin saves a Druid boy from execution, and skirts dangerously close to exposing himself as a sorcerer.

Merlin couldn’t blame the Druid boy for breaking the mirror. It was a horrifically expensive thing to break, but Merlin knew firsthand how magic could get away from a person when their emotions were high. He’d done all he could by getting the child to a relatively safe place. His father had already been caught when Merlin saw him, and the man’s immediate execution was likely intended to make the boy cry out and reveal himself. The wisdom in the man’s final words made Merlin want to protect his son even more.

Gaius was cautious as ever. Merlin couldn’t really blame him, but it was still frustrating that he wouldn’t lift a finger to help innocent people. Morgana was… sweet. Helpful. Unexpectedly kind for someone usually quick to belittle someone for their faults, really. Arthur clearly didn’t want to search for the boy, but just as clearly didn’t have a choice.

Thanks to Arthur’s patronage, Merlin’s education had shifted from stolen hours here and there to regular instruction. He’d used some of that time for studying magic, and he’d been sidetracked by other subjects often enough, but a lot of it had actually been medicine. He knew what book to use to look up a treatment for an infected wound, but it still took hours to get back to the injured boy. When Gaius saw Merlin looking up and trying to practice making non-magical medicine out of what must have seemed like simple curiosity, the old man was overjoyed. Merlin just couldn’t bring himself to talk his way out of the intense impromptu lesson he earned himself in the face of his Uncle’s enthusiasm. Gaius really wanted Merlin to be his apprentice in all things.

He got Jimmy and Francis to take care of Arthur the next morning, claiming Gaius had given him some books to study from and he didn’t want to admit to Gauis or the Prince that he needed more time to finish the complicated assignment. The Druid Boy’s fever had been high when he finally got back to him with treatment, and even worse this morning when the treatment failed. Merlin took a chance and used magic to help heal him when he reapplied the medicinal paste, careful to keep the flashes of golden light contained by the blankets after asking the girls to mix a mash to feed the boy. Neither of them knew how to feed a person too sick to wake properly, so Merlin ended up staying another hour. Morgana and Gwen crowded close to watch as he propped the boy up in his lap and spooned small portions of the watery mash into the boy’s mouth, gently encouraging him to swallow it. Gwen cooed over how good he was at the tedious task, insisting that Merlin was a natural born caregiver. The compliment felt good, and the lack of stammering about his unattractiveness afterward much appreciated, especially since the power of the spell had left him feeling dizzy and a bit out of sorts. Lady Morgana also complimented his skill with children when he was done, though the gentle way her hand brushed his cheek when she did didn’t help his dizzy head at all. He stumbled out of the room in a rush and it took him through most of sorting the laundry before he calmed down.

Morgana really wanted to save the boy, despite all the risks. Merlin understood why, which was more than he could say for the Dragon’s cryptic warning that the boy didn’t deserve help. Still, Kilgharrah had a point that he didn’t know this boy at all. Most druids were peaceful, but some of them took their religious beliefs to fanaticism. Merlin only vaguely remembered the time he’d nearly been abducted by them, but it had come back to him properly in the form of a hazy dream after the boy showed up. From the rant Merlin heard when he checked in with Arthur, neither the boy nor his father had hurt anyone and Uther was overreacting to the missing druid child in a way that made people uneasy, but really that only meant they hadn’t hurt anyone in the city. Druids tended to stay far from the city near the border villages when they ventured into Camelot at all, so why had they come to the heart of the realm that hated them for supplies? He’d have to try and get to know him a bit for himself, assuming he was awake. When he came back that evening to check on the boy Gwen and Morgana gave him very intense looks.

“Something wrong?” Merlin asked the girls, leaning his back on the closed door.

“No, we’re just… really surprised,” Gwen said. “We both thought you’d need to get Gaius to save him.”

“He was at death’s door before you came back this morning, but he’s been better almost from the moment you finished feeding him,” Lady Morgana added.

“So, he’s doing well?” Merlin asked.

“His fever is all but gone, and he was awake to eat dinner,” Lady Morgana confirmed.

_Thank you, Emreys._ The boy’s voice echoed in Merlin’s head. Merlin startled and pushed past the girls.

“Well, this I need to see,” he said to cover his jumpiness. “I’ve never actually treated someone completely on my own before.” Aside from Tom, but he couldn’t claim that publicly either. Merlin knelt down in front of the boy and checked his vitals.

“Do you think he will be well enough to get out of the city tomorrow?” Morgana asked. Merlin hummed to himself a moment.

“What is your name?” Merlin asked the boy. His wide blue eyes watched Merlin’s hands as they felt for his pulse, but he didn’t answer. “My name is Merlin. I’m an apprentice physician. Do you know what a physician is?” The boy looked at Merlin’s face curiously for a moment before going back to staring at his hands.

“Do you think the fever damaged him?” Gwen asked gently. Morgana adopted a worried look and clutched Gwen’s hand. He turned to them and tugged his ear with a wink where the boy couldn’t see, then shook his head. Then, Merlin brought his hands up in front of him and tried to remember the signs he’d learned from a group of druid holy men who’d taken vows of silence. Father had been fascinated by the idea, which turned out to have been borrowed from Christian monks, and had taken Merlin deep into the woods to learn to speak with his hands from the silent druids. It was more like learning a different form of writing the common tongue than learning a completely different language, but it did have a few odd rules. Like every language, studying it came easily for a Dragon-lord, but it took time to remember properly if he didn’t keep up it’s use.

“My name is Merlin,” he repeated very slowly, waving his hands in precise patterns. The boy tracked them with bright eyes, suddenly very interested. “I am a physician. A physician is a type of healer who doesn’t need magic to fight off sickness.” The boy looked up sharply at that. “Do you understand?”

The boy looked back and forth from Merlin’s long fingers to his eyes, then at Morgana for a long moment before vehemently shaking his head. _Emrys, why would you not use magic?_

“If you can’t speak, can you answer me in hand signs or writing any sort of symbol?” Merlin pretended not to hear the mental communication, persisting in waving his hands as he spoke. The boy just blinked at him. “I don’t use hand signs often. Am I not making sense?”

_I don_ _’t understand,_ the boy said while shaking his head.

“Can you understand the spoken word?” Merlin asked carefully, using words he was sure he knew the signs for. The boy didn’t react. Merlin dropped his hands. He turned toward the worried girls, keeping the boy on the edge of his sight. “He didn’t speak to me before, either, though he seemed to understand what was going on around him well enough. I think he’s mute or deaf, and uses his magic as a crutch to understand and communicate. Since none of us have magic, we can’t talk to him easily, and that is going to make this a bit difficult.”

_Emrys, I know you hear me!_ The boy shouted, angry, the sudden mental volume hurting his head a bit like a shout directly in his ear might. Merlin ignored it with everything he had.

“He must know we are trying to help him,” Morgana insisted, patting the boy’s shoulder affectionately.

“He does, Lady Morgana,” Merlin assured, “but I’m not sure how much he understands the situation he is in, or why things are the way they are. He doesn’t belong here in Camelot, and it’s clear from his behavior that even if it is easy to hide his tattoo he can’t pass as a page no matter how we dress him. If he could, we might have more options, but I think it is best to smuggle him out of the castle under cover of darkness. I was the one he followed to safety first, so it’s most likely he’ll follow me again. I had hoped I could dress him like Francis and just walk him to the lower town carrying something that looked heavy and blocked most of his face, then find a place for him to hide for a few hours before getting beyond the city walls.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Gwen sighed. “The guards are being too careful.”

“There is a passage through the wall of the armory behind the leftmost shield that leads to the lower town.” Merlin looked at the boy’s off-putting emotionless stare for a moment. “It’s just, it wouldn’t be safe until the midnight change of the watch. I’m not sure I can stay awake for it if we do it tomorrow. I’d need more time.”

“Oh, Merlin, you’ve been through so much the last couple weeks,” Gwen fussed with her apron as she spoke. “Arthur shouldn’t push you so much while you are still ill. We’ve been so demanding on you too, and after what Edwin did.”

“Can we not talk about that in front of a child? Or ever, preferably?” Merlin asked.

“So it _was_ true. No wonder you attacked him so viciously,” Morgana mused. “Here I wondered if it was only for my and Gaius’ sake.”

“Getting back to the important issue,” Merlin huffed. “I just don’t have much energy since the poison. I’m good for a few hours, but then I need a rest or at least to sit while I work for a time. I’ve gotten Francis and Jimmy to do a lot for me recently so I could help with the boy, but I can’t take a nap in the middle of the day without explanation and I’d need to if I have to guide him along every step. I just can’t do it. Not if he is going to be this difficult to deal with.” The boy was telepathically babbling a little, having what seemed to be a religious crisis over Emrys not being an immortal, invulnerable, all-powerful being and tugging on Merlin’s good tunic fiercely. Merlin turned back to the boy, gently pulling his hands away from the stitching. He’d been careful what days he wore his more expensive clothes in the week and a half he’d had them and he was hoping he wouldn’t need to fix the subtle embroidery along the seams for a long while. He looked deeply into the boy’s worried eyes for a moment and resumed using his limited hand signs. “You can understand some spoken words, can’t you? I am badly poisoned. It will be months - spring - before I am fully well again.”

_You have the stability of Earth, the power of fire, the wisdom of wind, the changeability of the sea. You don_ _’t need spells, you can just do what you want by willing it to be. Emrys, please, help me._ As soon as Merlin heard the boy use the word ‘please’ he smiled at him. He knew some manners, at least.

“If you want my help, I expect a bit of trust. You can’t only take from us. You are old enough to know better than that. Give and take, all in balance, as I am sure your elders taught you. If you can help with your escape, you need to offer to do so. It is only right,” Merlin chided, not bothering with the hand signs at all anymore. The boy looked crushed. “What is your name?” The boy didn’t so much as blink at the question. “Could you at least thank the girls for feeding you earlier? It is very rude not to.”

“Merlin, he’s only a…,” Morgana said.

“Thank you for the food,” the boy said quietly, his voice a bit rough from lack of use.

“He can talk,” Gwen gasped.

“That must have taken a lot of bravery,” Merlin praised, patting the boy’s head. “I know you are scared. Just tell me a few things that can help us get you home. What direction were you traveling?”

“North and West,” the boy whispered.

“Ok, I know that camp,” Merlin nodded.

“What?” Gwen asked.

“I know of them, I don’t know them personally,” Merlin clarified with a shrug. “I go that way gathering herbs more often than not and I’ve crossed paths with their gatherers a couple times, briefly. They are peaceful people, within a day’s walk until the seasons change.”

“Tell me how to get there, and I’ll take him” Morgana volunteered. “Nothing will happen to me if I’m seen.”

“Morgana, you can’t,” Gwen argued.

“No, _you_ can’t,” Morgana shot back. “You’ve already been accused of sorcery once.” Merlin sighed and leaned back against the wall, rubbing at the headache building behind his eyes. “Look, I hate it, but Lady Morgana has a point. Gwen, you were imprisoned for allegedly having magic and there is no way the king would spare you again. I’ve admitted to sorcery once already, and only survived because Arthur convinced everyone I was a fool in love. I don’t want you to do this, but there isn’t anyone else who can survive getting caught,” Merlin huffed. “You might even be able to deflect them if you are spotted; hide him behind you and tell them something ladylike, or whatever.”

“Our great tactician,” Morgana sassed.

“I mean, well,” Merlin stammered, making gesture over the boy’s head that was so vague and aborted even he couldn’t have said what it was trying to be. “I had to deliver some messages back and forth between Gaius and Janine the Midwife recently. No man wants to hear about… girl stuff. As an apprentice physician I’m apparently expected to develop a tolerance for it and they are easing me into the idea, but any male in the citadel is going to run before getting _involved_ in… in monthly issues.” Merlin shivered dramatically. The boy covered his ears firmly and made a face. The girls laughed at their pitiful expressions. “Say your nightmares are worse during certain phases of the moon, or that Gaius’ new potion has side effects the midwife needs to deal with and you don’t want the servants gossiping about her coming to you all the time. It’ll work as long as they haven’t seen the boy.”

“That is quite clever,” Morgana admitted, reaching out to caress his cheek. “You are full of surprises, Merlin.” Merlin sputtered and blushed, which made both girls giggle at him. He escaped the room quickly after that, though he knew there would be teasing about how easy he was to fluster later on.

Later that night Merlin sat cross-legged on his bed after an hour of meditation. His magic was acting up something terrible. The tidy pile of dirty clothes he’d made was strewn around the room already and he hadn’t even gone to sleep yet. He felt like one of Gaius’ fizziest concoctions was poured into his stomach before it finished bubbling, and hadn’t had much of an apatite at dinner. Gaius had given him some chamomile tea and sent him to his room to rest instead of pulling out his books st start a lesson when Merlin said he simply couldn’t finish his dinner.

It was awkward calling out _Hey, are you awake? Druid-boy?_

_Emrys?_

_You really do need to call me Merlin when you are talking aloud,_ Merlin warned. _And not knowing your name is a bit bothersome for this, you know._

_Are you going to help me tonight after all?_

_No, I wanted to teach you something that might help you later on._

_You_ _’ll teach me some magic?!_ Merlin could practically see the eager, expectant look on the boy’s face. _Do you want me to come out of the Lady_ _’s room? I don’t think she’d mind seeing the spells. She can hear me when I call to her like this, too._

_Is Lady Morgana asleep?_

_She_ _’s sewing something into what looks like the top of a drum._

_That_ _’s embroidery, and should keep her attention well enough for this. I’m not going to teach you spells. It’s more about how to do things, not instruction of exactly what to do. I want you to memorize it. It’s something very important that you can share with others._

_I_ _’ll carry your message, Emrys,_ the reply came instantly. Merlin smiled and carefully passed on one of the most important lessons his father had drilled into his head.

_Magic is willpower and light that lives in our hearts. A tool of power to be used with care. All power can corrupt a man_ _’s heart. We who hold light in our hearts must fight against that dark tide with every breath. We must resist the temptations of easy roads, fight the greed and negativity inside us until it submits to temperance. Quench the darker fires of passion and envy before they can burn all we love and leave us alone, anchor-less, unable to resist the howling of anger or the pull of pride. The most dangerous creatures are intelligent, alone, wrapped in hateful reasons, answering to nothing and no one as they hoard trivial things. In this way power breeds dangerous madness in an unguarded heart. If we make ourselves into monsters through hate, or allow pity over our circumstance to turn us to dark paths, we abandon all that is good and become a source of evil in the world._

_Emrys?_ The boy sounded a little confused.

_This is a very important message, and complicated. It took me years to understand it properly. It_ _’s not just for druids, either, but can be used by all people. I’ll repeat it for you until you can say it back to me without error. Magic is willpower…_

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

They were caught. The boy would be executed. Morgana was going to be punished severely for certain. Merlin was trying to go about his normal morning chores, and put away Arthur’s clean clothes in a distracted haze. He didn’t feel up to using magic to sweep up the room, and picked a broom up to do it manually just before the door burst open. Arthur stalked in and started pacing in his front room. Merlin kept sweeping.

“You are doing that now? Shouldn’t you be downstairs running errands?” Arthur spat after several laps around his table.

“I’m scared. He’s scared, and I can hear him crying, and I can’t shut it out, and it’s terrifying to listen to,” Merlin admitted. Arthur whirled around, looking at Merlin like he’d just declared the sea was made of pudding.

“What?”

“The druid boy,” Merlin supplied.

“You can sense his magic? From the dungeons?” Arthur asked.

“He’s telepathic, a skill where you can communicate without talking aloud. It’s an inborn magic for him, but many people with a spark of magic learn how to do it if only enough to hear and not speak that way,” Merlin explained as he continued his sweeping around the screen that divided the Prince’s living space between bedroom and front room, leaving more behind than he was piling up. “I can do it, I’m not sure if I learned how or if I always could, but Mother used to swat me same as if I was intentionally using a foreign language in front of people. It’s rude to talk in front of someone in a way they can’t understand, no matter the method. That’s part of how I learned so many languages so easily, I could hear the meaning in my mind along with the words of my… teacher. Like how I feel the intent in other types of magic. It’s not mind-reading, though, it doesn’t work unless the other person can do it too and wants to communicate that way. He’s got an impressive range, and he knows I can hear him. I’m not sure if anyone else can.”

“He’s crying, and he’s intentionally tormenting you by letting you hear it,” Arthur summarized, accusatory with his hands on his hips.

“I know it’s a bit manipulative, but he’s a scared little boy and I’m the only person capable of answering him. It’s what kids do, isn’t it? Run and hide behind their sibling or the town guard when some scary thing attacks them,” Merlin sighed. “He knows I have enough power to help him, or that I’m stronger than he is at least. He can feel that about my magic without me projecting anything.”

“I assume you helped Morgana,” Arthur shook his head.

“I healed his arm,” Merlin sighed. Arthur glared at him. “I had a feverish boy with an infected wound and two teary-eyed women on me. I’d like to see how long your resolve held out under that onslaught. Two women who knew full well which of my strings to pull, at that. I know it was reckless. I tried regular medicine, but he was dying and… Morgana had all but adopted him with the way she was acting.”

“You used… You _healed_ him?” Arthur said. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Well, yes, I think I was,” Merlin sighed. “The same way you were with Sophia, a bit. The next time either a pretty lady or a cute child asks me for something, I’m dousing myself in cold water and getting a second opinion. I seem to have discovered a significant personal weakness.”

“Morgana is way out of your league,” Arthur said dismissively.

“Well, considering it seems I’ve had a better track record with attracting men than women, so I guess it doesn’t matter if she is or isn’t,” Merlin deadpanned.

“Oh, come on, Merlin” Arthur scoffed.

“Look, he’s never hurt anyone and there were some powerful parental instincts in that room,” Merlin shot back. “It was sweet enough to hurt your teeth, the picture of family we made: the way the boy looked at Morgana and I like we were going to take him in permanently. Seriously, Arthur, I don’t think I could have made a different choice given the circumstances. He’s just a scared boy wanting to go home who has never hurt anyone. Considering what you did the last time a lady got her hooks in you I don’t think you’re in a position to cast stones.”

“Well. It is a good excuse,” Arthur agreed. He had calmed down rather quickly, so maybe Merlin’s inability to restrain himself was as understandable as he kept telling himself it was after all. “It was still reckless.”

“Morgana went full mother bear over him, and I mean it. He seemed to take to her the same way,” Merlin insisted. “I’m a little worried about it, both how quickly she became attached to him and how they reacted to me treating his infection successfully.”

“She does seem very attached to him,” Arthur conceded, pacing again. “Are you absolutely sure they don’t know you used magic to heal him?”

“No, but they should have been too distracted to think about it for long and they saw me use mundane medicine on him as well. The magic was just to help it work properly. I mean that they made it into a big deal when it wasn’t really, and I’m worried about what he might have done to cause that. On the bright side, I don’t think Gwen and Morgana are afraid I have magic even if they do suspect something. I admitted I knew where the druid camp he was traveling to was located, because I pick herbs out that way and have seen their gatherers. They should focus on that if anything. At the time, I was more worried about his attitude than them figuring out what I’d done. He was just sitting there like a bump waiting for us to do everything for him. Refusing to thank Gwen and Morgana, refusing to speak at all except through telepathy, refusing to look at me when I was talking aloud. I pretended as if I thought he was deaf or mute and used hand signs,” Merlin explained. “Eventually I got him to thank the girls and confirm he was heading northwest. The disrespect concerned me enough that I used telepathy to teach him the litany before bed, just to be on the safe side.”

“What litany?” Arthur asked.

“The one about how to use magic responsibly. I quoted it to you heavily when you first asked me about magic. ‘We must resist the temptations of easy roads, fight the greed and negativity inside us,’ and all that. I’m not sure what camp he’s from, and he only has the one tattoo. He could have been born a druid or he and his father could have been recently inducted because of his talent, but either way it seems to me like he was favored because of his natural skill and hasn’t had much real training or discipline yet,” Merlin shrugged. He bent down to use the dustpan on the messy pile he’d collected. There was still a lot of dirt in the corners of the room, but it was only in the corners. That was good enough for today.

“At least you tried to set the boy on the right path in life. It is a shame he won’t get the chance to spread what you taught him among his people, it is a good lesson for any man with power,” Arthur said, clapping Merlin on the shoulder. “He couldn’t have asked for better.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, using the full dustpan as an excuse to walk away.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin didn’t like not knowing things, as was proven daily by his addiction to kitchen gossip, so he went back down to talk to the dragon again. The old dragon was terribly grumpy the first time around, but he’d chalked that up to the thing being caught out on the Great Destiny business when Merlin companied over how the boy called him Emrys without even being introduced. He’d clearly wanted to be vague and all-knowing about Merlin’s place in the Old Religion’s mysticism, and Merlin had ruined the great lizard’s plan to lord the knowledge over Merlin by stating that he knew all about the way certain druids saw him. The dragon had warned him not to help the boy, and now Morgana, a seer the creature might feel some kinship toward as a fellow prophet, had angered Uther nearly to the point of getting herself banished. He went down to talk again, planning to eat humble pie and be glad that things hadn’t turned out worse. He hadn’t expected to be told the boy would have grown up to slay Arthur. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, other than glad the situation was taking care of itself. Predictions of the future were only warnings, after all. Nothing was set in stone until it happened.

Morgana was in Arthur’s front room when he reported back late that afternoon. There was a tense moment where Arthur looked between Morgana and Merlin before ordering Merlin to lock the door. Merlin stepped hesitantly up to the table to see what this was about.

“Morgana seems to think you want to leave the city with the druid boy,” Arthur explained. “Sit with us, sorcerer, so we can work out exactly how much of a fool you are.”

“Arthur, he’s our friend,” Morgana chastised. “He can take the boy and they can both live peacefully.”

“Oh, no.” Merlin leaned forward and sagged against the chair instead of sitting in it. He’d felt awful all day, and it was getting worse by the hour. His magic hissed and roiled under the limits he’d placed on it, unhappy with being so tightly contained, but what choice did he have? Francis and Jimmy were always underfoot, he’d been too exhausted to think straight during Arthur’s three days of hell, and with the search for the druid boy he hadn’t been able to go gather herbs in the forest where it was safe to get some release. Other than the healing spell he used on the boy and a bit of telepathy he hadn’t cast a spell all week, and the effort of suppressing it was becoming exhausting.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Arthur asked stonily. Morgana’s jaw was on the floor.

“You can’t be serious, Arthur. He saved your life,” Morgana accused.

“I don’t want to go live with druids,” Merlin whined. “How could this happen so fast? I just gave him medicine. Morgana, I told Arthur about this ages ago, but most apprentice physicians get executed for sorcery because someone confuses a bit of luck with magic. I don’t know whether to be satisfied by a job well done or nurse my wounded pride over being called a cheat.”

“You’ll be more than metaphorically wounded if you don’t shut up and listen,” Arthur shot back. “We have a plan to break the druid boy out of the dungeons.”

“You can’t,” Merlin protested, looking at Morgana apologetically. “I mean, it’s too dangerous. If you are caught again the King will never forgive you.”

“I’m not worried for myself,” Morgana argued.

“Merlin’s right. When my father finds out the boy’s escaped, he will expect you of being involved,” Arthur said pensively.

“It’s suicide, even if you stay out of it he’ll kill you out of pure suspicion,” Merlin pointed out.

“You must go to my father and apologize,” Arthur suggested to Morgana’s disbelief. “Dine with him. He cannot hold you responsible if you are with him when the boy escapes.”

“You need me if the plan is to work,” Morgana countered. “You can’t do this on your own.”

“Merlin will take your place. I’m going to take the boy out through the burial vaults. There’s a tunnel that leads beyond the city walls. Get my horse from the stables and meet me there. There’s a grate that covers the entrance to the tunnel. Bring a rope and a grappling hook to pull it off,” Arthur listed off rapidly, standing and getting in Merlin’s personal space.

“No, I can’t…” Merlin began.

“Why not? He’s just an innocent little boy,” Morgana accused.

“He isn’t,” Merlin shot back. “He… scares me.”

“What is this about?” Arthur said, bewildered. “This morning you were upset he got caught and now you are scared of him?”

“I can’t do this, and I don’t have a good reason. Not one I can easily explain. I wanted to help him; I did help him,” Merlin babbled. “Now I’m not helping. I don’t want to. I just… I’m scared of what he will become.”

“You think he’s becoming evil,” Arthur said, pulling back.

“That’s ridiculous,” Morgana chided.

“I don’t know what he is,” Merlin admitted. “Other than a scared little boy that has been howling in fear.”

“He’s never hurt anyone,” Morgana shouted.

“He’s hurting me!” Merlin shouted back, and buried his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment.

“The telepathy,” Arthur murmured. “He’s forcing you to feel his fear, to hear him scream and cry. It’s affecting the poison in you the same as the griffin did.” Merlin nodded and took a breath to explain himself, not looking up.

“There is no possible way to know the future. Seers get glimpses, but nothing is set in stone. This boy might kill you, Arthur, or he might just become a powerful warrior opposed to us. He might not become our enemy, but it seems like…”

“You see the future?” Arthur asked. Morgana leaned in, fascinated.

“No, I can’t, but I know someone who can whose word I trust. I was warned about his future. I ignored the warning at first, he’s too young to know so much of what he will be, but the more time passes the more I want to just do nothing. We gave it our best try. Let things take their course, let the adulterer sooth his guilt with blood again,” Merlin moaned wretchedly.

“I’m going to ask you what that last sentence means some time when we have several hours to discuss it,” Arthur promised. “For now, this morning you were walking around the room pretending to use a broom and were basically so grieved that you were scarcely able to exist properly. You seem more collected now, though certainly not calm or hale. It that because of how he is hurting you with his magic? Have you found a way to block him out?”

“He’s asleep now, but I do think he could be influencing me and his constant screaming has been wearing me down. Then again it would be hard to listen to even if there wasn’t any magic involved. He admitted to me that he spoke that way to Morgana and she started to treat him as her own child disturbingly fast,” Merlin pointed out.

“I was hiding him before then,” she argued. “You brought him to me.”

“Yes, but were you treating him like family?” Merlin pressed. “I heard his voice through magic before I saw him, before I decided to help him. I don’t like what I did for him, Morgana. The lengths I was willing to go to. I just felt so strongly that _I_ had to help him. Me, and no one else. I don’t feel that way anymore. Not now that I’ve been away from him long enough to get my head back on straight. It isn’t like his behavior was particularly charming or sweet, so why did we react like it was?”

“You think he enchanted you?” Morgana asked, a nervous scoffing sound slipping out of her like she’d tried to force a laugh and couldn’t.

“I think he’s desperate to survive and using the only method he knows to try and save himself. I can’t fault that in a child, but I am having a very hard time trusting it. We were… playing house with him, and I don’t believe for a second either of us was in our right mind.”

“At the time, I didn’t know you were such a self-serving coward,” Morgana spat at him. Merlin’s eyes hardened, the magic humming under his skin fizzing up to a proper boil.

“I have saved lives. Sometimes to do so I also end them. Five before I came to Camelot and more in Arthur’s service. I help people whenever I can, but I don’t know that I can this time. We hardly know anything about him. I have never - never - attacked anyone unless I knew they were hurting others. Even when I was warned they might, I didn’t act against Sophia and her father until after I realized they had enchanted Arthur and I didn’t kill them until after they tried to drown him,” the frustrated words erupted out of him before he clamped back down on his self-control. Morgana looked at him with wide eyes, one hand covering her mouth as she gasped. Merlin shook his head, he really was a mess today.

“She was _intentionally_ trying to drown me?” Arthur mumbled.

“I have never been in a position where I have been asked by anyone to end a life before the person has done anything worth execution,” Merlin said, ignoring Arthur and tugging at his hair in frustration. “Or to just not act, when I can. To let things go, and stand aside as an innocent child is killed to prevent some later evil from emerging. Is it even the same thing as killing him myself?”

“Merlin,” Arthur raised his voice, his hand gripping Merlin’s shoulder to get the panicky boy’s attention. “You answered your own question.”

“Did I?” Merlin scoffed, disliking hearing some of the dragon’s words on Arthur’s lips.

“The boy has not yet done anything worth execution. We can’t punish him for what he is yet to do, and if we do this for him then he will know me as a friend,” Arthur reasoned. “If he does grow up to be some powerful force, he may well be an ally.”

“I can’t make this decision. Politics and alliances, it isn’t my place,” Merlin sighed, then looked up at Arthur helplessly. “Command me, sire.”

“What is going on?” Morgana asked.

“Merlin, I command you to be at the grate beyond the city wall with a grappling hook and my horse.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin replied. Arthur looked a little uncomfortable. They’d never been this serious about Merlin’s unofficial duties, and Merlin hardly ever used formal address without a liberal dose of sarcasm. Now his voice was solemn as a grave. “My will is yours.”


	11. Sick in the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin reaches his physical limits and gets some help. Arthur endures culture shock; then, comes to understand how often Merlin uses magic. This results in a very angry prince making a request that Merlin does not want to fulfill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes some dark-ages talk about sexuality, with Merlin expressing the old pagan thoughts on the matter and Arthur showing a little of his Roman/Early Christian roots.

Merlin was feeling worse and worse as the hours passed. Gaius fed him light fair with a worried frown and sent him to bed early. The druid boy was calling for him every few minutes. Begging to be saved, inviting Merlin to come live with him in the druid camp. The only real peace he’d had was this afternoon while the boy took a nap, and he’d been in quite the snit during those short hours. He refused to talk with the boy long-distance again. He felt sick enough without the dissonance. He snuck out and brought Arthur’s horse into position after an hour or so of failing to meditate. As he waited for Arthur, Merlin tried relaxing again. He let his magic out of its cage a little, stretching to feel the tops of the trees sway in the breeze. He didn’t give it direction, slipping into loose meditation as he lay spread-eagled in the high weeds near the grate. It felt good to relax the iron grip he’d had on his magic, focused on nothing but counting his breaths, but it also made him a bit sleepy.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice splashed against Merlin’s sleepy ears and he stirred from his meditation.

_Emrys. Where are you, Emrys? Emrys, help us. Please._ The disembodied voice hit Merlin like a runaway cart.

“Ow,” Merlin moaned pitifully, flopping back down from where he’d been sitting up.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s worried voice gave him something to focus on. Merlin scraped himself up onto fours and crawled over to the grate. “You look terrible.”

“Nice to see you too,” Merlin quipped. He set the grappling hook into the bars. “Now both of you shut up before I pass out from this headache.”

“Have you been shouting at him this whole time?” Arthur asked the boy, who answered with blessed silence. The horse easily pulled the rusty old grate off. Merlin hadn’t had to do anything other than roll out of the way of it, his magic telling the horse to pull for him. “Merlin? Merlin, you have to get up.”

“Do you think the horse can take us all?” Merlin asked pitifully. “I won’t make it home without being caught.”

“Get up.” Arthur pulled Merlin up and helped him scramble onto the horse. It was good he was so skinny, though the saddle was still uncomfortably crowded with the boy in front and Arthur behind. They moved slower than they would have with two, but Merlin’s magic was out and refusing to be packed away. It dulled the pain by spreading it around, and Arthur didn’t comment as their tracks were erased by gold-edged dancing leaves as they went.

Merlin was in rough enough shape that Arthur needed to keep an eye on him lest he fall out of the saddle, and even instructed the boy to help by being properly silent and hugging onto Merlin’s arms. Merlin protested weakly when accused of casting some grand spell to aid their escape, and then argued that the quicker they dropped the boy off the quicker Merlin could get back in bed. Arthur’s offer of stopping so he could rest a bit was tempting, but when he next fell asleep he wouldn’t doze lightly and move again in an hour. He was going to leap into Morpheus’ arms with abandon.

There were three Druids in a glade waiting for them. The boy jumped off the horse as soon as it stopped and rushed to the man in the center. The sudden motion sent Merlin toppling sideways until Arthur caught him. Merlin latched onto the pommel so Arthur could dismount, then practically fell into Arthur’s arms when he tried to get off himself.

“I should have let the boy run part of the way and gotten you back to Gaius,” Arthur worried.

“I’m actually feeling better from the quiet ride. I’m just really tired,” Merlin apologized.

_Prince Arthur saved me! I brought Emrys with me, too!_ The boy’s voice bubbled with pride, the force of his glee slamming into Merlin like a shout. Merlin reeled, sagging down to the forest floor.

“Tired, you said?” Arthur scoffed.

“For pity’s sake! Will you take a hint and stop that?” Merlin shouted across the glade.

“You are very ill,” the Druid on the left said needlessly, walking forward with purpose. The boy turned back to the druid in the center.

_Emrys was poisoned. He_ _’s come to live with us and bring about Albion. I found him after…_

“If the boy is doing that silent speech thing right now, stop him,” Arthur demanded as Merlin did his best not to vomit on the Prince. The druid on the right cast a spell cutting Merlin off from the boy’s rambling account of his adventure. The Druid that had spoken aloud knelt and ran a hand over Merlin’s body from forehead to hip. Gentle light glowed on his fingertips, and Merlin sighed in relief as the comforting light absorbed into his skin.

“Thank you, that feels lovely,” Merlin said. “I’ve had a splitting headache for hours. Call me Merlin, I think you know of Prince Arthur.”

“I am Dylan,” the healer greeted. “We owe you both a debt for returning the boy. Do you know the poison? I can only dull the pain until I know how to treat it.”

“Morteus flower enhanced with some kind of enchantment. Arthur and Gaius already got me the antidote. I’m still recovering,” Merlin explained. “A year and a day, and all that rot.”

“The boy has been calling to Merlin for the last day and night almost constantly out of fear,” Arthur spoke up. The vibration made Merlin realize he was laying against Arthur’s chest. “I thought only using a powerful spell could make him relapse like this, but perhaps enduring a small exertion for hours is the same.” The healer looked thoughtful and pulled off his cloak.

“The boy was injured, and it got infected. I healed him, which should have been a small enough thing not to bother me, but I…” Merlin trailed off. “I’m being unkind. It’s not his fault I was so careless.”

“You exposed yourself to discovery when there was no need. Both you and Morgana risked death for that boy when you didn’t have to,” Arthur added.

“Hey now, you were the one arguing that I’d just been careless, and I was the one saying the boy’s magic made it hard for us to think straight,” Merlin complained. The healer kept petting him gently, guiding Merlin to lay down on the cloak and soft grass beneath to be examined. “Don’t try and confuse me about who was arguing what point while I’m wobbly.”

“You were careless, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said, drawing out his name annoyingly. “That doesn’t mean you were wrong about the boy’s manipulative behavior. If your magic has been fighting off some suggestion or compulsion he has been trying to use on you as well as the poison, it could explain this. It might or might not have been his fault directly, but you did risk exposing your secret to people who should not have known about you because of him. You are normally much more mindful when it comes to these things.”

“I started to look up a memory removal spell, but they all looked horrible,” Merlin grumbled. “I’m glad I was able to deflect Morgana so easily. Even if they are my friends, they really shouldn’t know.”

“There are gentle ways to make friends put things out of mind, rather than brutally removing the memory altogether,” the healer suggested. The petting was soothing, and he could feel the gentle magic sliding along beneath the hand and checking the strength of his limbs, lungs, and heartbeat. “We could aid you with that if you wish.”

“We’ll consider it,” Arthur answered flatly.

“Our seer tried to watch over events, but there was something clouding her view most of the time,” Dylan said, his voice soft and gentle. “I’d like to invite you to spend the night with us, so that I can treat this illness properly. It will not be a complete healing, as I am sure you understand, but while you have clearly been cared for, the healer that has seen to you lacks the needed power. If you’d like, you can tell me the story of how you saved Mordred while I draw out some of this sickness. The distraction could be beneficial.”

“Is that alright?” Arthur asked, wary.

“I think I need it,” Merlin replied. “If you want to go and fetch me later I understand. Or if you want to take me back to Gaius instead.”

“If I am found or come back alone Father will execute you next time you show your face,” Arthur griped. “Besides, I prefer to keep you where I can see you. Dylan, if you can guarantee we will not be attacked for our loyalty to the crown…”

“You come to us in good company, Arthur Pendragon,” Dylan said with a smile. “With… with Merlin’s word to vouch for you, you are safe among us.” Merlin lifted his hand to cover the healer’s, trying to convey silent thanks for respecting his name without using any more magic.

“Now I have three things to talk to you about,” Arthur warned, taking his horse’s reigns in one hand and Merlin’s arm in the other.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

The camp was semi-permanent, with tents amid a few small wooden scaffolds scattered between tall trees in an area only mostly cleared of brush. It was peaceful in the moonlight. Dylan led them to the largest structure: A proper building which leaned up against a huge oak tree on one corner. Inside a young woman was finishing up making two places for them to sleep. Merlin was settled into a slanted pile of heather and cloth that likely counted as a sickbed. Arthur was offered a more standard, flat bed of grasses covered in hides a few paces away. Dylan helped Merlin use the wash basin without falling in it while his apprentice gave Arthur an abbreviated tour of the building. He didn’t give Merlin his tunic back, but the large pot of green paste someone quietly produced when he wasn’t paying attention and the paint brush on top of it might explain that. One of the other Druid leaders came to listen to Merlin and Arthur explain how they rescued Mordred, but he’d introduced himself stiffly as Hywel and then sat silently in the corner where he was easy to forget.

“Mordred is not from my camp or Hywel’s,” Dylan made polite conversation after they had been served a bit of warm, meatless soup. “He came from the south with his mentor, hoping to find a place in the west, nearer the holy island.”

“Aiming for the priesthood, or did something happen to their old camp?” Merlin asked.

“I’m unsure. We don’t hear much from the southern camps here with Camelot between us. It is far better to go around to the east or west, or to wait for winter when we are all closer together. I know his birth parents are gone, he was recently apprenticed, they were caught in the market collecting supplies, and that he tried to escape the city once with a woman and failed, but no more than that,” the healer prompted. Merlin put down the empty bowl of soup and Dylan helped him strip down to his smalls. The apprentice - Sarah? Serra? - was sent to sleep in a room on the far side of the building.

“I was between things, on my way to tell Gaius I’d finished my morning tasks early and could help him with his rounds before Arthur needed me again. I heard someone calling me, by name,” Merlin hoped the healer understood the subtle emphasis. “I saw him after a bit of confused looking around, wounded and barely hidden. I didn’t realize what was going on until I saw the guards searching the other side of the courtyard. I showed him the servant’s entrance and smuggled him into a friend’s room, more because it was closest, and I didn’t have time to get him anywhere else than out of any plan or choice….”

Merlin told the tale as the healer painted him with green paste, starting above his heart and over his shoulders to his back. Every so often there was a whispered spell and the paste would tingle, sparkling with gentle starlight as it soaked a little deeper into Merlin’s skin. Arthur interrupted the first time to ask if he felt well, clearly nervous about the healing magic, but it felt quite nice. The paste was cold until the spell was cast, but then it was cozy warm and leeching the toxins out of his body without the actual leeches and the lightheaded feeling liberal use of them could cause. Once his back as done he’d lain down so Dylan could finish his chest and paint his arms. He did understand why the distraction of a story was suggested. Particularly when his last scrap of clothing was tugged off. Dylan was a bit of a stickler when it came to exceptionally deadly poisons. Aside from that, the brush wasn’t very soft and after a little bit the dry paste itched, but while he was still a bit dizzy he didn’t feel so sick anymore and wasn’t about to complain.

There was a bit of humor attempted at how Merlin scolded Mordred for not thanking the girls like a disapproving older brother, but none of the three listening to Merlin’s story laughed. Arthur chimed in after Mordred and Morgana were captured, letting Merlin rest his voice and filling him in on a confrontation between Morgana and the King that Merlin hadn’t been present for. Dylan took the chance to paint Merlin’s face. Arthur went on to give his take on the planning of the escape from the dungeons. The Prince went into more detail about Merlin’s reluctance to help the boy than Merlin was planning on revealing.

“You aided Mordred even knowing he was fated to fight against you and bring about your death in the future?” Hywel spoke up.

“Well, it’s just some seer’s dream,” Arthur argued awkwardly. “I can’t punish him for things he hasn’t even thought of doing yet. It’s not how I would have things done.”

“I’ve never struck out at someone preemptively either,” Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry I was so wretched about it.”

“You were, and are, very ill, you idiot,” Arthur’s staccato reply made Merlin smile, the expression a bit stiff from the thick paste. “I did want a better informed and less distracted opinion of the concerns.”

“Mordred has great potential, and his telepathic ability is powerful indeed if it could reach across the city like that,” Hywel offered. “It is possible, given the strength of his need and the power he has, that he managed some suggestion or coercion. I doubt it would have been fully intentional, but simply the desperation of a child trying to use his magic and not fully knowing how. We will ensure it is not a method he favors.”

“Mm, I know how that goes,” Merlin mumbled as another wave of tingles spread over him.

“Funny story?” Arthur prompted. Merlin couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, turning his head toward Arthur and snuggling into the softness beneath him, tugging the blanket further over his chest and thighs. The way the bed had been made, the edges came up around him like a hug.

“Broken arm. Tried to fly away from some older kids while Father was on the trade route and dropped like a stone from a treetop,” Merlin corrected, voice slurring. “He was so pissed when he got home.”

“Elders are angry when children hurt themselves because they feel they have failed to protect them,” Dylan soothed, painting Merlin’s left knee.

“Yeah,” Merlin sighed.

“Is it alright if he sleeps?” Arthur’s voice was asking.

“I expected him to fall asleep before I was finished with his arms,” Dylan answered quietly.

“How badly off is he?” Hywel spoke.

“He’s been in good hands, but the poison was enhanced with powerful magic and he hasn’t had proper treatment in kind. It is very impressive that he has been up and about at all. His own energy has also gotten badly unbalanced, but I don’t know if that’s the poison or something else,” Dylan again. Merlin liked him. His magic felt very clean and soft.

“He was on light duty immediately after the poison, but being idle was driving him crazy,” Arthur was talking again. “I had been pushing projects onto him, keeping him in a library chair reading a book for an hour or so a day. He told me he’s been careful, not casting any magic, and was feeling better until the last few days.”

“Maybe that’s part of the problem. He’s all bound up, tense as a man desperate for release,” Dylan supposed.

“Do you think Gavra could help him?” Hywel asked delicately.

“I was alluding to a full bladder, not a lack of sex,” the healer snipped, then continued much quieter. “Though she might not be a bad idea, if she got him to properly relax.”

“I think he prefers men,” Arthur’s voice, quiet but still right at Merlin’s side.

“Why do you say that?” Dylan asked casually.

“It isn’t that he has not shown any interest in women,” Arthur sounded fairly groggy himself, and rather talkative in a very un-princely way. “Just some of the things he’s said now and then. I’m not sure anyone would be welcome right now, either. There was an older man recently. We’d thought it was unwilling, but Merlin said that it was romantic before it went wrong. I don’t believe that. The man used it against Merlin, brutally. He took the betrayal hard, and intentionally angered his other potential paramour soon after. He’s just making excuses. I’ve been trying to watch him for self-harm, but I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for.”

“I’ll speak to Gavra,” Hywel said. “She’ll know how best to handle it.”

“It’s really up to him,” Dylan said, and repeated the healing spell. The wash of warmth and comfort put Merlin properly to sleep.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

When Merlin woke up, bright morning sunlight was coming in from outside through a little gap in the roof-line. Arthur was snoozing next to him, dead to the world judging by the trail of drool coming out of his mouth. The green paste had dried to a grayish sand that fell off him in streams as he sat up, swiping stray grains out of his eyes. His skin was a little green underneath the dried medicine, and he was still naked under the thin blanket. He didn’t see his clothes anywhere, but there was a tub of water in the middle of the room. Merlin stretched and stood up, looking around for a chamber pot rather desperately. He found the bucket that served the purpose and made immediate use of it before resuming his search for his clothes. After a few moments of looking around he heard the flap that severed as a door rustle.

“Feeling better, Emrys?” a male voice asked from the doorway. Merlin looked over his shoulder at someone who appeared near to his own age. He was dressed in an undyed cloth tunic and hide trousers.

“Much better,” Merlin replied over his shoulder. He made a vague gesture to his green body. “Though, I seem to have lost my clothes.”

“They were washed. You should wash as well. Although, if you are feeling up to it,” the young man said suggestively, “the creek would be more comfortable than that big bucket. It is quite nice this time of year, and you won’t have to fold yourself in thirds.” Merlin considered how easily he could heat the water in the small tub to steaming and he weighed that against the ability to bathe without poking his eye with his knee.

“A creek, you said?” Merlin asked, picking up the thin, sandy blanket to cover himself with.

“Let me,” the man said with a bright smile, offering a towel that he quickly pinned onto Merlin’s hip with copper knot a bit like a Northerner’s kilt. The man introduced himself as Rein as they walked through the camp. It was near mid-morning, with people going about their daily tasks. None of them seemed to mind that Merlin was shirtless or green from tip to tail. Nor did they stop what they were doing to bow or do other uncomfortable things toward him like some other druids had. The creek was just past the last tent, running merrily along a wide bed of dark pebbles and giving a bit of a border to their camp. Rein took him downstream to an area hemmed in by large rocks that was deeper, a perfect bathing spot. Merlin’s well-worn clothing and a couple more towels were warming in the sun on the bank.

Rein stripped down and jumped in, giving Merlin a good look at the man’s intricately tattooed skin in the process, then turned to offer a hand in case Merlin needed it. Merlin hopped in on his own, though he wobbled with his usual clumsiness and Rein caught his arm in concern. The water was cool and clear enough even with the increased swiftness the rocks caused that he ducked his head under for a quick drink. Rein started scrubbing at Merlin’s back with the cloth Merlin had worn, one of his arms coming around to steady him against the current from time to time. It wasn’t really needed, but it was considerate. Merlin focused on scrubbing the stain off all the parts he could see and let Rein help him with what he couldn’t. It was nice to be pampered like this, and the lingering touches massaged the stiffness out of his limbs.

“If there are other needs of yours I might lend a hand for, I’d be quite willing to help. Or if you’d prefer a girl, I know one who wouldn’t mind,” Rein boldly suggested, his lips moving against Merlin’s ear.

“Pardon?” Merlin squeaked. Rein gave him a suggestive smile.

“Just a helping hand,” he shrugged. “You seemed like you could use one, the way you were shifting about in your sleep earlier. Even in the water you are tense as a bowstring.”

“Oh, well, I could,” Merlin stammered, blushing at having been caught having one of those dreams. He’d woken dry, at least. “I don’t get a lot of time alone.”

“Why be alone?” Rein asked. “Though if you don’t want to, that’s another thing.”

“I never, uh, this,” Merlin said nonsensically.

“Never?” Rein asked, politely interested instead of teasing. “Do you not like it?”

“I’ve never tried,” Merlin shrugged, his magic simmering close to the surface and giving voice to the things he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud. _Not fully naked, something always ruins things before I have the chance._

_You have the chance now, if you want it. No pressure, I just want to help you relax,_ Rein answered. Merlin didn’t think he could blush any more than he was.

_That would be nice._

Predictably, he’d completely lost control of his magic, and the bathing pool was ringed in healthy new leaves and flowers that didn’t necessarily have any right to bloom this late in summer. Rein begged Merlin not to put his magic away while they dried off in the sun. He’d looked at Merlin like he was the most beautiful thing in the world, pulling him into an embrace Merlin didn’t return. The reverent tone of Rein’s voice when he begged _Emrys_ to let his magic shine was all too familiar coming from a druid and the deliberate ignoring of his given name not at all welcome during something so intimate. Even so, Merlin came back to the camp bright-eyed and relaxed, his magic unbound and his stomach informing him gently it had been a while since his last meal now that all his other needs had been satisfied.

Merlin started asking Rein questions about the camp and the people in it once they left the water behind. Rein was the youngest hunter in the camp, and rather new to the post. There were about fifty souls strong, though some of their number swapped back and forth with Hywel’s clan when they met for the solstices, and they had a few goats. They moved along a set trail with the seasons, keeping little gardens along the way to feed themselves and the animals they hunted. Merlin wasn’t sure how that worked at first. When Rein said foraging wasn’t getting lucky while looking around as much as it was farming the forest, Merlin nodded in understanding. Dylan was both their healer and their leader, chosen by the elders when the old one passed away.

Arthur was awake, outside, and worried when they got back to the healer’s house. Merlin walked up to him with an easy smile and got a nod in return. Merlin wondered if the prince could tell that Merlin’s magic was buzzing in a happy cloud around them. It certainly turned some heads as he’d walked through the camp, but he honestly couldn’t tell how much could be seen or sensed by someone who didn’t have magic of their own. His magic clung to Arthur when they got close, checking him over before dispersing again, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose you’ll be going as soon as you can?” Rein asked. “After Dylan gives you a check over.”

“We need to get back to Camelot. My father will be worried that I was missing so long,” Arthur answered.

“You should eat well, before you go. You must be starving after sleeping a whole day,” Rein suggested.

“A whole,” Merlin paused and checked the sun again. It was getting near noon. “How long was I out?”

“It must have been two or three candle marks past midnight when you finally settled to sleep. You slept almost straight through the next day and night to this morning,” Arthur confirmed. “Dylan said his apprentice would have a meal for us shortly.”

“My family tent has an oak leaf pattern, just that way. If you want to drop in before you go. I’ll need to check on my sister just now, though, so I’ll see you later,” Rein said and jogged off.

“You made a friend?” Arthur asked. Merlin blushed a little.

“Sort of,” he evaded. “What have you been up to while I’ve been asleep?”

“Hunting with someone who knows their ear from their elbow,” Arthur joked. “Learning a bit about how they live, mostly.”

“They farm the forest,” Merlin offered with a shrug. “Rein was telling me about it, too. They plant vegetable gardens and sow oats in meadows all along the path that will mature in time for their return along the loop.”

“It’s nothing like what I had imagined,” Arthur sighed.

“Did you expect cauldrons boiling human flesh, severed heads of woodland animals on spikes, bloody symbols drawn on hides, and a bunch of evil cackling?” Merlin prodded, bumping their shoulders together.

“No! Well, nothing that extreme. Is this how you grew up?” Arthur asked, looking around in a transparent effort to turn his guilty expression away from Merlin’s scrutiny.

“No, Ealdor isn’t a magical community or nomadic. Just simple farmers,” Merlin explained, looking down at the tiny blue flowers in the grass at his feet. He was reasonably sure they hadn’t been there earlier and hoped he hadn’t left a trail of them, as inconspicuous as they were. He may not have Arthur’s more extreme view of warrior masculinity, but trailing flowers was a touch too girly for him to be happy with. “I was almost abducted by druids once. For my own good, they said, but my mother wouldn’t have it.”

“They abducted some of these kids?” Arthur asked.

“Not this clan. You really can’t think of them as one unified block. They have lots of clan-specific traditions and some are less religious while others are near zealots. Extremists like those tend to be shunned by the others, and they would never allow someone without magic in their camp. Imagine a twisted mirror of your father’s opinions, saying that people with no connection to nature or understanding of balance have no inherent moral compass and can’t be trusted,” Merlin clarified. “I think this is about average. A normal, middle of the road community.”

“With all the standard services of a village,” Arthur said.

“Yep.”

“Including bed warmers,” Arthur said.

“Eh?” Merlin looked at Arthur, who was blushing red as an apple while giving Merlin a little smirk. “Oh, they did that to you too? It’s not a standard way to welcome guests, but rather than let someone new stumble around a complex mess of relationships they couldn’t know about, it’s easier for the elders to just say to a group of their own people ‘who wants first chance at the fresh meat?’ Small communities like this one need new blood to come in regularly, or else the family ties get uncomfortably close. I wouldn’t read too much into it. It just means that nearly everyone here is already related, probably.”

“Really?” Arthur asked, dubious.

“The nobility is a small community. Don’t you know, before a visiting group even sits down to dinner, which ones are and aren’t available to you that way?” Merlin asked back at him. “It is a bit harder for commoners to know that sort of thing the same way you do going in, and few farmers go more than a mile from where they were born, so there are a few different ways to work around the problem when a new face comes to town. I can’t say if this particular group does this or not, but the druids that camp closer to Ealdor are very open about this sort of thing. They track family through the mother, and a healthy child ‘born from hospitality’ is considered a good omen under certain circumstance. There are rules about it, it’s not a free ticket to be irresponsible. After all, raising a child without a spouse is a tough way to live, but I figure it must be better than kissing a sibling.” Arthur pulled a face, clearly agreeing.

“What about people just finding love in villages or in other camps, and either moving away or bringing them in?” Arthur asked.

“It happens, but I don’t think you appreciate what I mean when I say farming communities don’t move around much. They get rooted to their land as solidly as trees. Even over generations, and serfs certainly aren’t permitted to move outside certain bounds in most places. The druids and other free travelers provide that sort of thing for some communities, and the traditions specific to their camps tend to reflect how restricted travel is in their area,” Merlin repeated the explanations his parents had given him back when he’d been old enough to learn about avoiding unexpected fatherhood. “This close to the citadel of Camelot, they are probably quite restricted and lacking newcomers. You can always just say no, it isn’t rude. Just be clear as to whether you are saying ‘not you’ or ‘not at all’ when you do.”

“I never expected a bunch of wild men sleeping on grass to have rules as complicated as a high court,” Arthur said, his elitism on full display.

“They aren’t wild animals,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“I know that now. It is different. Uncomfortably different in places, but not what I thought it would be,” Arthur defended himself.

“Not evil?”

“Yeah,” Arthur mumbled, “I guess.” The pair lapsed into silence.

Dylan and his apprentice came over to them half an hour later with food enough to see them home. They’d coaxed some broth into Merlin during a few periods of semi-consciousness, though he hadn’t been lucid enough for anything else. This meal was heartier, a little fresh venison and goat cheese accompanied a generous portion of fresh greens and sliced roots. Merlin ate eagerly; he wanted to be on the road home. A couple children made to run over to them but were stopped by an elderly woman. Most of the camp kept a respectful distance from him, though it wasn’t the worshipful sort of respect that made his skin crawl. He said as much to Dylan telepathically as he ate thanking him for the way his camp treated him as the inexperienced apprentice he was instead of the grand myth he was expected to become, and received quite the shaming dressing-down about how he’d been holding in his magic lately in return.

Dylan’s final examination was quick and professional, confirming that much of the toxin had left him and that what remained would trouble him far less as it faded away. It concluded with a warning to take better care of himself and maintain his magic properly. Both Merlin and Arthur thanked Dylan for his help, and before long they were ready to head out. The other leader hurried over to them while Merlin saddled the horse. Merlin’s memory was a little fuzzy about the details of their arrival, but hadn’t there been three elders present at some point?

“I wanted to say a few things before you left, and offer you compensation for the offense,” the man said.

“What offense, Hywal?” Arthur asked. Hywal spoke directly to Merlin as if Arthur was the servant, one of the only deliberate actions that hinted at Merlin’s status as Emrys that he’d seen.

“Mordred revealed, quite proudly, that he intentionally exposed your magic. Not only early in the day before you came back to call yourself a physician and try to cover it up, but also later. He told Lady Morgana both you and she had very powerful magic and it would grow until you were first among our kind. He originally intended that she would return after seeing him to safety and fetch you to live with him among our people together,” the elder said. “He has been sternly disciplined.”

“I should hope so,” Arthur declared.

“It was very wrong of him,” Merlin agreed. “You said compensation? I think Dylan had mentioned something as well, but I wasn’t in a fit state at the time.”

“We’ve prepared a potion to aid an oath of secrecy,” Hywal passed Merlin an earthen bottle with a stopper sealed with wax. It was decorated with the symbols for trust and relief. “There are several options, but this one is the mildest, as I think you will appreciate after I heard the lesson you gave Mordred. To any non-alcoholic drink add one drop for each of your companions. Identify yourself and speak the secret you wish kept, then add a drop of your blood to complete the ritual. Pour the mix evenly into cups and have your friends drink with you. The potion will encourage your friends to put the secret out of mind unless some dire situation comes up, so if they have need of your aid it will not prevent them from seeking you out.”

“Are there consequences for revealing the secret, or does it make that impossible?” Merlin asked warily. With the way the bottle filled his palm, there was quite a bit of potion inside. Far more than just the two drops he needed right now for the girls.

“No and no, as I said, it is very mild. It will only make the secret seem uninteresting and not worth talking about unless you bring it up first. It helps because it eases the stress of holding onto silence, a mercy for friends who stumble into secrets best left unshared,” Hywel assured. “To dissolve the oath, simply release them from their promise in the Old Tongue. The excess will keep for years if the bottle remains sealed in case you have need of it again. Does it suit?”

“It does,” Merlin nodded. “Thank you very much for this, your hospitality, and for taking Mordred to task.”

_You are welcome, Emrys. We are gladdened to see you and your chosen Prince in harmony and are reassured that the days of the Once and Future King are indeed coming._ Hywel bowed to Merlin and left.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin and Arthur walked side by side, the horse trailing behind them with two cleaned rabbits hanging from the saddle to back up the planned story that this was a simple hunting trip. Arthur was frowning in deep thought. Merlin’s magic was still in a cloud around him. Arthur hadn’t mentioned it at all. He wanted to ask if Arthur could tell the difference, but didn’t want the druids hearing him admit how little he understood his own power. The silence was getting oppressive, but it wasn’t until they were well beyond the camp that Merlin felt safe talking.

“Does there seem to be anything drastically different about me, other than improved health?” Merlin asked.

“You are normally skittish,” Arthur replied after a moment. “You seemed very at ease with them from the start.”

“I’ve seen a lot of druids, as they regularly pass through Ealdor to stay beyond Camelot’s eastern border when they travel. As I said before, I was nearly kidnapped by Druids once, because they thought with my gift I’d be better off with them,” Merlin shrugged. “This was before my father came home. My mother is the sweetest, most polite woman you can imagine, and she chased them off with a wooden spoon. The whole group of them, cowed by a lone shouting herbalist as thin as I am and only this tall.” Merlin held up his hand to his shoulder to show how small his mother was. “They aren’t exactly a fearsome bunch, generally. I also know their laws and betraying an offer of help and hospitality would be an unforgivable thing. Those responsible would have their tattoos marred - cast out and marked as untrustworthy, and no one seeing the mark would even talk to them again. Even some criminals wouldn’t welcome betrayers of that sort. Besides that, I feel better than I have in ages. Dylan did as he said he would. Anything else?”

“Why are you asking?” Arthur countered, giving him a suspicious look.

“There is no reason that I know of not to trust Dylan and Hywel, but I was unconscious for most of our stay. I’m wondering if I should just chuck this bottle at a tree and take my chances without a way to fix it if I screw up, but it’s a really big thing for me to have a backup plan even if I never use it. So, do I seem drastically different? No sparks in the air? Nothing out of place that can’t be explained logically?” Merlin looked at Arthur expectantly. Rather than raising his hackles, Arthur seemed to relax.

“Good to see you aren’t that blindly trusting. I haven’t noticed anything off about you, yet. You’re the same incompetent servant who talks more than he should. Though, if you want me to ask you about an apparent change in your behavior,” Arthur drawled, a spark of mischief glinting in his eye. “Did Gwen hurt you badly enough to make you favor men over women?”

“No,” the answer was startled out of Merlin. “I don’t… I just don’t care, I guess. Never have. Kissing is just as fun either way, isn’t it?”

“Merlin.”

“Men can’t get pregnant though, and don’t have to worry about purity,” Merlin thought out loud. “So, I guess that’s easier in a way, at least in the city where everyone seems to care about girls being so completely untouched. Out in the villages, virgin and maiden just mean a woman hasn’t gotten married or pregnant yet. It’s a lot more fun when a polite peck on the cheek isn’t a hard limit on private activities. Of course, I’d want to find a girl to marry eventually. That would be worth the effort for the right girl, but I just don’t like anyone that much.”

“You are most definitely unchanged,” Arthur chuckled. “You will never have even the slightest notion of courtly graces.”

“I am doing something very different, though. I’m not repressing my magic,” Merlin tried to say it casually, but it came out a bit timid. “I’ve been squishing it down the whole time I’ve been in Camelot, because it’s really obvious to me since I can see it, and even more forcefully recently since the pages have been underfoot all the time, but I haven’t been since… well since Rein made me lose control over it.”

“What did he do to make you slip your control?” Arthur asked, eyes wide with alarm. “What did he force on you?”

“Nothing!” Merlin shouted, grabbing at the Prince’s arm in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “I’m fine, he didn’t force me to do anything.”

“You told me about your tight control, admitted to the danger of untrained magical power, and are always on guard lest the magic corrupt your heart,” Arthur urged. “You would never be so reckless. How did he break you?”

“I, well, I lost hold of my control for a moment when he jerked me off in the bath. I’d like to see you try to keep your concentration focused on anything complicated through that.” Merlin’s face was flaming. Arthur’s was as well. “It happens when I’m asleep, too, and any other time I get properly distracted. This is my natural state. Nothing bad happened; I made all the flowers around the bathing pool come into bloom. I can pull it in now, but I wanted to know if I had to first. I’ll do it when we get back to the city just in case there is some heirloom artifact laying around I might set off walking through the streets, but if you can’t see any of the golden mist coming off me then maybe I’m being ridiculous and can relax more often when in private.”

“Oh, well,” Arthur said, clearly uncomfortable. “You are shedding mist?”

“Yes, that’s what my magic looks like to me: gold mist or sparks shedding off me, depending on how I’m feeling and how much I have stored up. Always has. It reaches out and touches things from time to time. Sometimes its focus is deliberate, but mostly it is based on my emotions and instincts, following whatever has my attention. When I walked up to you this morning, for example, it passed over you and I knew without asking that you were unhurt,” Merlin explained.

“Are you sure you aren’t doing anything with it?” Arthur asked. “This is just how you normally are at rest?”

“Yes. I’m not doing anything in particular, and it’s just sort of shedding off me as a thin mist. I really don’t understand how other people don’t notice it, it’s incredibly obvious to me. Then again, I suppose I see a lot of things other people can’t. I can pull it in, hide it within myself, but while we were eating Dylan was telepathically asking me not to hurt myself again by smothering it so fiercely,” Merlin shrugged. “If I seem sparkly or if you notice anything weird going on just give me a nudge and I’ll pull it in. There are times stealth is preferable, and I hate it when I meet new people when it’s out, but going around with it bound up like that all the time was apparently not just difficult, it was unhealthy.”

“You’ve done a lot of magic. Not just when I asked you too,” Arthur said seriously.

“I thought I’d cleared that up when we talked after the griffin was defeated. I told you, I would have tried to do it anyway. You didn’t really think that was the first spell I ever cast, did you?” Merlin asked.

“Well, I,” Arthur huffed.

“Arthur, that would be like a squire taking out a bandit camp by himself the first day he touched proper armor and a full-size sword. I don’t know if I should be flattered at how fast you think I can learn things or worried that you think magic is that easy.” Merlin shook his head, looking down to hop over a tangle of roots that crossed the path. “It was my first try at _battle_ magic. The first spell I used whose only purpose was to end a life. That was what I was talking about. I didn’t like it, but it served a need. I prefer being peaceful.”

“Isn’t the whole point of magic that it is easy?” Arthur asked.

“It uses different resources, and different types of strength, but it isn’t easy and it can certainly get exhausting. I’ve been squashing myself down harder than ever since Jimmy and Francis started running around underfoot. My room doesn’t have a lock of its own, so they can pop up anytime the infirmary is open. It has been a bit of a trial. I do practice discipline and I don’t use it for everything, but it’s an instinctive part of me and I’m used to using it fairly frequently for little things in my own room. It should have been really obvious to me that completely stopping all use of it would be a bad idea.”

“So, your inborn talent wasn’t just to see magic,” Arthur accused.

“Arthur, I realize now that you knew absolutely nothing about how magic actually works before we met, but at the time I didn’t think you wouldn’t understand that anyone with an inborn magical talent has, at a bare minimum, the ability to use that specific type of magic. For clarity, so there will be no further mistakes: So do about three or four out of every fifty people without a specialized gift. Some of those with the ability to use it - usually those with inborn talents but there are rare exceptions - are strong enough that if they don’t learn how to use it, it comes out on its own and makes trouble. Perhaps one out of every three hundred people _must_ study control or it will ruin their lives by doing things on its own. I’m one of those rare people with no choice: if I don’t control my magic it constantly makes a mess. You saw what it does to my room when I’m distressed during the alfanc plague. It tossed everything around when I had a nightmare, and then I didn’t have the time or energy to spare to clean up before your search party came through. My case is unusual in its intensity, but it is a common enough thing that almost anyone who doesn’t live in Camelot would tell you the same, and probably quite a few of the older people who do if you pressed them about it,” Merlin sighed. “I didn’t lie, I told you both that I had studied magic and that I had an inborn talent. I kept things simple because you seemed to be short on patience at the time and I didn’t realize exactly how much I needed to tell you in order for you to properly understand.”

“Hiding the truth is no better than lying to me,” Arthur shouted.

“I’m more honest with you than any other person I’ve ever met! Outside my family, that is, but it’s not like I had to tell them anyway.”

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been using magic?”

“Always. I could use it before I could talk,” Merlin shrugged. “It’s inborn, like I said, and I have a gift too strong to leave me uneducated.”

“So, it is not that you did not tell me the truth, it is just that I was too ignorant to understand you when you told me?” Arthur spat.

“There _is_ a language barrier, and I stumble over it just as much as you do. Things are just so different in Camelot,” Merlin soothed. “I suspected you didn’t understand me completely, but I’ve never had to explain these things before, and I wasn’t sure how to without it sounding insulting. I wasn’t sure how you would take it if I broke it down that far the first time we talked.”

“I’d take it that you were a sorcerer and a criminal,” Arthur challenged.

“I’m a warlock and I’ve never hurt anyone save in self-defense, nor have I ever broken any law other than the one I break by breathing,” Merlin challenged.

“Stop doing magic, then. Just stop,” Arthur ordered.

“I can’t, it will come out on its own or make me sick. I can only hold it so long, and I already toss everything out of my cupboard while I sleep.”

“You’re addicted to it! That’s why you feel so much better right now, you are like a man in his cups,” Arthur denied. “To clean it from you will be painful, but if you resist for a time you can be free - like how Gaius stopped using it.”

“That’s not how it works for me, I don’t take it in from outside my body the way others do. I make magic; I am magic. It comes out of me, like heat comes out of your body,” Merlin asserted. “You can’t just stop being warm inside because you want to.”

“That is impossible, my father taught me…” Arthur began, and Merlin seized the moment.

“He taught you a lot of things, hasn’t he? About magic, about the druids, about how he conquered Camelot. This is just like all those inconsistencies from your history lessons. Can you really blame me for being too terrified to tell you everything all at once? What was I supposed to say? Oh, hey, my family was given honors after my maternal great-grandfather saved the life of your grandfather a couple dozen times with his magic, my parents got together when they fled Camelot after magic was banned because they both thought killing children as young as a week old was evil no matter what the reason, and King Uther thought saying that out loud in public was worth a death sentence for both of them. I came to Gaius to learn to control my inborn magic because it’s fairly powerful, has caused me some minor problems that I don’t want to get worse, and I don’t have enough coin to pay for lessons in Gawant. Also, there is a dragon living under the castle and we occasionally chat.”

“You aren’t… you aren’t doing anything to me, are you?” Arthur asked. “All those things you say, trying to twist me around.”

“I am trying to be honest, to be your friend, but it was fairly obvious you’d never properly seen magic and barely knew what it was.”

“I know what magic is!”

“Evil, right? You see it as this monolithic fountain of black slime tainting the world that needs to be plugged. Just pure evil and corruption, and so is everyone that uses it. It can’t do anything good, sickens everything it touches, lies and manipulates, turns on its users,” Merlin ranted, getting right up in Arthur’s face. “Nothing like any other kind of power in the world, and if you got rid of all of it there would be no more evil in men’s hearts. Any friendship between us is only an enchantment, just as Uther once said about his friends when they dared to disagree with him, because the nobility can’t really have friends and a King can’t ever trust those he hasn’t brought to heel through fear or bought with coin - two methods that _clearly_ can’t ever have an evil bend in them. I can’t have love in my heart if I have magic, I can’t be a good person because I was born with this. I must have ulterior motives. I must have done something else to heal Tom, or save the King, or to get the water out of your lungs when Sophia tried to drown you.”

“You did magic on my father?” Arthur seethed.

“Edwin used magic to make him sick; Gaius couldn’t fix it because he hasn’t practiced in years. He also didn’t know how the spell worked, but I’d been around Edwin’s equipment and had a couple clues. Gaius made it some kind of _test_ , said it was my right to refuse because no one would ever know if I did it or not,” Merlin shouted in Arthur’s face. “As if I could have lived with myself if I didn’t try! If he’d woken up faster, I’d have been thanked with an execution!”

“According to the law, you should be!” Arthur shouted back. Merlin reeled, stumbling back from the angry prince.

“Do,” his voice came out small, quiet, “do you mean that?”

“Yes!” Arthur shouted. Merlin looked at the prince, angry and puffed up, and remembered a promise he’d made.

“Alright then,” Merlin nodded and dropped to his knees, head down to expose the back of his neck.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, suspicious and angry. Merlin heard the slide of Arthur’s sword.

“Waiting for you to kill me, as I promised I would,” Merlin supplied. “I told you I wouldn’t run from you. I think you are a good man with a true heart who has been denied the chance to see the full truth. If you are certain I’ve become evil, then I’d rather die than live to be a blight on the world.” For long minutes the only sound was the stomping hooves of the startled horse. He heard a rushing sound as something cut the air. Out of the corner of his eye, the edge of Arthur’s sword glinted in the sun where it had stopped just before touching his neck.

“You would let me do this,” Arthur said, thoughtful.

“I told you I would,” Merlin wished it hadn’t come out so shaky, but the bright glint of reflected sunlight on the tip of the blade had captured his attention.

“You said you killed Lady Sophia,” Arthur prompted, his voice as flat and unemotional as he was during court sessions.

“I was all too happy to agree not to talk about that night ever again,” Merlin replied, still looking at the blade. “I don’t like killing people.”

“How did you do it?”

“The staves she and her father had were weapons, not ceremonial ornaments,” Merlin explained as calmly as he could, but he was terrible at hiding his emotions. “Gaius was able to read a few of the runes on the handle and give me the basic idea. He only has a few sparks of magic, and he’s old and out of practice so even if he knows how to do something I often have to be the one actually doing it. They hit me with a blast when I tried to stop you from leaving your room that night, and Gaius said I only survived because of my own magic protecting me. Even that was just this side of a miracle. By the time I got to you they were performing some kind of ritual sacrifice to give Sophia eternal life in Avalon - that’s the fairy world and sort of a magical heaven. They’d been cast out of Avalon for some crime her father committed, and weren’t originally human. She’d left her staff on the bank when she led you into the water, so I took it and used it. Then I had to haul you, unconscious and in full armor, out of the water. I cleared the water out of your lungs on the bank with a spell and made a litter out of a couple tree branches and some vines to haul you back to Camelot. I also used some magic for that since I didn’t have any tools on me and needed to move quickly.”

“Where are the staves now?” Arthur asked. The blade didn’t move.

“One was destroyed when I killed Aulfric with the other. I went back after you were in your own bed under Gaius’ care and fetched the other to a hidden place so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. I tried burning it, but it is rather fantastically powerful. They weren’t made in the mortal world and as far and Gaius or I know the only way to destroy one is with another one.” There was a moment of heavy silence.

“When you were arguing against saving Mordred, you said the adulterer could slake his guilt with blood again. What did that mean?” Arthur asked, voice still cold and closed off, blade still held at Merlin’s neck.

“I was referring to the reason why King Uther decided to outlaw magic in a vulgar way because I was upset,” Merlin tried to be vague.

“You call my father an adulterer?” Arthur prompted, with a little heat.

“Lots of people do, and go on to say that if Uther wanted a Court Sorceress who would look after the wife he loved, then he could have been a bit more careful about who he appointed to the post,” Merlin babbled. “It’s not something I understand myself, it doesn’t make any sense to me at all, but though he obviously loved her enough to lose a part of himself in grief at her death, he wasn’t true to her while she lived.”

“You expect me to believe my father had a Court Sorceress?” Arthur pressed.

“Magic was legal, so of course he had someone in charge of magical affairs. Nimueh was his Court Sorceress from before he conquered Camelot. There were rumors Queen Ygraine was barren, or at lease having some trouble providing an heir,” Merlin shrugged. “They were five years without a child. I don’t know if it was true, but one story goes that he asked his Court Sorceress to make a spell that would guarantee a male heir would be born.”

“You claim my father had a sorceress for a mistress, and he asked her to ensure my birth,” Arthur said. His voice was still hard stone, though there was a hint of incredulousness seeping in.

“I mentioned something rude in a moment of stress, and I really shouldn’t have,” Merlin tried to speak calmly, but the sword’s blade caught the sun again. His fear and regret leaked out, coloring his words a little and making him shake. “I can only repeat to you what I have heard. I don’t have proof for this or a source more reliable than the word of a man who lived in Camelot’s court at the time and was later exiled. I have heard variations of the story from others as well that don’t mention a fertility spell gone wrong, but instead say it was divine judgment for his infidelity. Those versions imply the Queen died of a broken heart or neglect. Some claim you have a number of half-siblings spread about. Some are certain Morgana is your half-sister. I don’t know what is true, I wasn’t even born yet and most that were in a position to know are dead, but the most trustworthy sources I know say the Queen died because the spell that allowed her pregnancy either went wrong or else was intentionally designed to kill her and make way for the mistress to step in as the new Queen.”

“You have been undermining my trust in my father since the beginning,” Arthur accused.

“No, I haven’t, or not intentionally. You decided to start looking things up and I helped you because it is my job to help you and clearing up the lies was the right thing to do. If King Bayard was wrong and there wasn’t anything amiss, then there wouldn’t have been anything to find. I don’t have some grand plan working against you, and while I did hide a few details about my personal life from you before we became friends I have not lied to you about the political and historical things we’ve been looking up. My mother’s plan was for me to keep my mouth shut, get some training from Gaius, and earn enough coin to go back home or move on to some safer place to make my living. Then Nimueh started murdering people in ways that only I could do anything about and I ended up bound to you,” Merlin sassed, frustration making him bold.

“The magic ritual thing you spoke of before is the only thing that keeps you here, then?” Merlin’s head snapped up so he could look Arthur in the eye. The motion made Arthur’s hand tighten on his sword’s hilt.

“Prophesy does not set the future in stone. If either of us believed it could, Mordred would be dead. I can cast aside my destiny, or you can force me away from it. There would be consequences, particularly if I betrayed you in any real way, but I could just walk away instead of submitting myself to you as I am. I am not being forced by magic or any other force to do anything,” Merlin said, his voice strong and sure. “The thing that keeps me at your side is the knowledge that Nimueh - who I do know for a fact is your father’s former Court Sorceress, and if you want to confirm that I’d advise extreme caution in who you approach - is still seeking to exterminate the Pendragon bloodline and she doesn’t seem to care anymore who she takes out along the way. Gaius is unable to deal with her new tactics, so if I leave she’ll have a clear shot at taking the throne. I can’t just walk away and watch people die knowing I can stop it.” Arthur sheathed his sword.

“Even though I and my father hunt your kind?” he asked.

“Before me, before Mordred and this camp, had you ever properly met someone with magic who hadn’t been involved in some kind of violence first? Even if it was just resisting arrest, you’ve only met those who attacked someone or were angered to violence before meeting you. Other than Gaius, obviously, but you didn’t know about him. I can’t blame you for your assumptions any more than you should blame me for my fear.” Merlin stayed kneeling on the ground. Something haunted passed over the Prince’s face before he turned sharply away.

“When we get to the castle, I will invite Morgana and Gwen to my room. You will prepare that potion for all of us,” Arthur said, less confidant than he was before. “We can’t risk the girls suspecting you, and leaving such a heavy burden on them is unfair.”

“You want me to use it on you?” Merlin asked, leaning over a bit to try and see his expression. “Why?”

“It only lets me put it out of mind when it is unneeded, correct? If I have need of you, or if I’m specifically thinking about magic I’ll be able to remember everything.”

“Yes, but only in an emergency,” Merlin confirmed. “If you didn’t take it you would be able to think about it whenever you wanted. If you do take it, you’d likely remember a lot of things and not remember where you heard them the first time. I’m not sure how that will affect you. You might get caught in a loop of thinking you are enchanted, remembering I can help, realizing why you had a hole in your memory, and then calming down enough to have the spell come back and make you forget again. If my magic has been fully revealed to Lady Morgana and Gwen, then that’s different. Expecting them to shoulder something like this for me, after Gwen was tossed in the dungeon, with Morgana’s nightmares and how easily she could be cast aside as an orphan, and after the stress of helping Mordred it just isn’t fair to them. They aren’t really involved, they just keep getting mixed up in the fringes of things.”

“You think my father would not cast me aside if he knew I harbored you?” Arthur asked. His voice was steady, his back straight. He could have been commenting on the weather for how easily he said the words. “When I need you, you will be there, and I will know that you are. He already cautions me not to debase myself by making friends with someone below my station and resents the comfortable place I’ve made for you. Being able to dismiss you as a servant with an above average education as I ought to do will be easier this way. It will protect us both.”

“Arthur,” Merlin sighed, slumping as he couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He couldn’t imagine being afraid of his father. He’d been loved by his parents from the moment they laid eyes on him, even though that moment had come years late in the one case. When Father left that last time, it was an act of love and encouragement for Merlin to become the best warlock he could - a sacrifice to protect him from his father’s past so that he’d live long enough to do good in the world. For all that he hated to see his father go, he hadn’t been abandoned because of anything he’d done wrong. It was because of what other people had let themselves be corrupted into doing, and there had been a promise to return if he found something to secure Merlin’s life against such threats.

“You could still come to me, without breaking the spell,” Arthur supposed. “If you had any special needs. You are still a man under my command, after all.”

“You said I’d be a friend for life if I helped you court Sophia. That may not have turned out the way we expected, but I do plan to hold you to that,” Merlin said petulantly, looking to lighten the mood. “I take care of my friends, too.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

The king wasn’t terribly happy with Arthur’s decision to go hunting the night before the druid was to be executed, and went so far as to say that it was that lax example that afforded the boy the chance to escape. Arthur played it off that he was confused by what Morgana had done and needed time to think. Merlin went to Gaius as soon as they left the throne room to fill the older man in on what happened and discuss the potion the druid leader gave him. Behind the firmly locked door Gaius examined it briefly, but didn’t put it through the battery of tests Merlin knew would be appropriate for a fully unknown substance.

“The druids have no reason to lie to you, Merlin, and this does not seem to be tainted,” Gaius said as he handed the bottle back to him, missing only a few drops used in a cursory examination of its properties. “It is probably for the best, though it is disappointing that Arthur wants it for himself as well. By what you have told me, I was rather hoping his fear of magic was a great deal less intense than I first thought it was.”

“I don’t want to use it on him, but he’s insisting,” Merlin sighed.

“Then hesitate,” Gaius suggested, “he might be angry for a moment, but he will thank you for it later.”

“What?”

“As much as I wish no one knew about you, you’ve made it clear that you trust his judgment and so far he seems more level-headed than I’d given him credit for. When the time comes, don’t offer it to him immediately. Make him tell you to do it again, and make your reason for resisting clear: you chose him as your confident after your initial confession was dismissed and you don’t want to take that back,” Gaius coached. “You can insist the girls drink for the same reason: they have no right to judge you in accordance to the law and aren’t directly involved, but Arthur does and is. It has nothing to do with how much you trust them or not, it is a matter of personal honor and Mordred betraying your trust. They should respect that.”

“Right. I can mix it up in the antechamber, so they don’t hear me identify myself,” Merlin nodded.

“Identify yourself?” Gaius questioned, one eyebrow raised.

“I can’t exactly announce my full name and lineage in front of them, can I?” Merlin shrugged, swapping his sweaty neckerchief for a clean one. Mabon was coming fast, but the sun was still hot. If the heat kept up like it was winter would be late this year; good news for farmers.

“What full name?” Gaius asked carefully.

“Merlin Ambrosius,” he answered, turning to see the shock on Gaius’ face.

“I thought you grew up as a bastard and never knew your father,” the old man said gently. “I was under the impression you had little idea who he was.”

“He missed my birth, but he christened me properly when he came back,” Merlin shrugged.

“Came back? Is he in Ealdor now?” Gaius asked eagerly.

“No, he… he was attacked a couple times. It’ll be three years this fall that he’s been…”

“Merlin! Prince Arthur needs you right away!” Jimmy shouted from the doorway.

“Go on, Merlin,” Gaius said with a comforting pat on the shoulder. “We can talk of this news once you’ve finished your duties.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this up while taking a break from putting the nursery together. I have no idea what my writing habits will be like after my baby is born, so I would suggest utilizing the subscription feature before May if you are enjoying this. I do always have more chapters written than I have posted, so there is a backlog, but I also re-read everything and do little tweaks a minimum number of times before I put anything up. Scrivener first-revised-final drafts -> rtf file MS word grammar check-> posted here.
> 
> Some Terrible Writing Advice: https://youtu.be/C17bE66vz2Y (But seriously, it's a great series.)


	12. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin uses every bit of talent and training he has in the arts of storytelling, misdirection, and flat-out telling lies to get out of drugging the people he considers friends.

Merlin brought a half-full jug of apple juice to the antechamber, locking the door to the servant’s hallway behind him so neither of the pages would come in that way. There was already a jug of wine and a plate of snacks waiting there, which must have been fetched by Francis as no one would dare give Jimmy a jug of wine after what happened the first time. He left the juice and poked his head into Arthur’s front room. Lady Morgana was sitting with Arthur at the table and Gwen was hovering nearby, and no sign of Francis. He was about to duck back through the doorway and have his moral crisis in private when Lady Morgana spotted him.

“Merlin, come in here,” she insisted.

“Yes, Lady Morgana, is there something I can get for you?” Merlin asked professionally.

“Come now, we’re all together to talk about the last week,” the lady sighed. “No need to be so formal.” Merlin turned away to lock the front door to the chambers, but found it already bolted. He pat the lock reassuringly before stepping over to the table.

“We’re all friends, right?” Merlin asked, twitchy and nervous and completely at a loss for how to stop this from happening. “We take care of each other in a circle, sort of. I take care of Arthur, Arthur and his knights guard over you two, Gwen takes care of Lady Morgana, and Lady Morgana reminds Arthur he’s a better man than he thinks he is when he gets his head caught in his arse.”

“That’s creative,” Arthur said carefully, giving Merlin a worried look. “Have you hit your head recently?”

“Surely you can call Merlin your friend,” Morgana chided. “I know Gwen is my friend, no matter her station. I’d be lost without her.” Gwen and Morgana smiled warmly at each other, then the handmaiden stepped up to the table.

“Is the boy back home now?” Gwen asked. “You were gone two whole days, but Merlin said their camp was fairly close.”

“It was only about an hour’s ride to the camp, but Merlin became ill again,” Arthur said. Merlin nodded.

“The poison came back to me, it must have been the stress stirring it up in my blood,” Merlin confessed.

“You did look very pale, and you kept wincing at odd moments,” Lady Morgana noted, Gwen nodding along.

“The druids invited us to stay in their camp until he recovered. Their leader is a healer.” Arthur said it as if that didn’t make any sense. Merlin jumped on the topic.

“Do all leaders have to be conquering kings? Their elders choose the person best suited to the job, the one with the most education and respect in the community, or whoever has the necessary organizational skill. That they chose a healer speaks to that particular clan’s values,” Merlin explained as simply as he could.

“You know a lot about druids, don’t you?” Lady Morgana asked, her eyes sharp.

“They generally don’t care about some arbitrary lines drawn on a map, and migrate across undeveloped land freely, but they are aware that King Uther would see them all dead. My village is right on the eastern border of Camelot, and the road through it isn’t convenient for trade between the major cities. However, when anyone wants to travel north or south while avoiding Camelot, they either go west along the coast or east through the forests - and Ealdor is right on that eastern path. I’ve seen a lot of Druids, a lot of travelers in general, and they often came to my home because my Mother’s an herbalist if only to purchase medicinal herbs,” Merlin said with a casual shrug.

“The boy told us you knew magic,” Lady Morgana finally got to the point. Gwen’s face fell into pinched worry. Arthur pursed his lips unhappily, unsubtly picking up one of the empty cups from the table before putting it back down as if he felt the need for strong wine to listen to this, though Merlin knew what he meant. Merlin was a bit worried at how quiet the prince was, and what if anything he might have said to the girls before Merlin arrived.

“I know _of_ magic. I understand it a little better than most people in Camelot because I’ve seen it used in everyday tasks,” Merlin tried one last time to fix this his own way. “I can recognize it faster, because of that, when other people might put it off as a trick of the light or think they were mistaken. Like with Knight Valiant’s shield. I understand how it works, the different elements, how to protect myself from them to some extent, that sort of thing.”

“So, you aren’t a sorcerer, but you know about magic,” Gwen spoke up. “Enough to take something given to you and use it, maybe, and that was what he meant.”

“I wouldn’t act against the law,” Merlin lied, fidgeting awkwardly. “Execution seems a rather unpleasant way to go. I’d rather accidentally inhale a few too many fumes while working with medicines and drop off to sleep painlessly, if I had to choose. Not much for violence, me.”

“He told me my dreams were magic,” Morgana whispered, a worried little frown marring her pretty face.

“That’s ridiculous, Morgana,” Arthur scoffed.

“Could be,” Merlin supplied at the same time.

“Merlin!” Arthur scolded. Merlin seized on the tangent and hoped to ride it until all thought of him having magic was forgotten.

“She has dreams that seem to be about people before she meets them, sometimes, or things that haven’t happened yet. It could be just coincidence, but it could be a touch of prophesy. Even if it is, it doesn’t mean she can do anything else. Particularly since she’s never done anything magical while awake. Often, seers were well guarded because they were otherwise defenseless: most had little other magical ability, if any, and were vulnerable while caught in a dream unable to wake up,” Merlin provided. “Most people who have an inborn ability to use magic can learn to do things outside their main talent, but on average that just isn’t true for seers. They are a special case, and there is always the possibility that the dreams aren’t magical at all and simply contain the things Lady Morgana worries about.”

“So, you are saying that her dreams are caused by… what?” Arthur asked. Merlin looked pointedly at the Lady in question.

“My Lady, I’ve mentioned to Gaius that you don’t seem satisfied with what he’s told you, and I understand that what Mordred said to you seems like an easy and simple explanation even if it is frightening, but if you had magic like that it would come out as more than just dreams. Gaius doesn’t mean to treat you like a child, but he cares a lot about you and has done since you _were_ a child. I’m no expert, but I can tell you some things he’s told me after I pestered him about it for a couple days, if you like. There might be something in it he hasn’t said to you, since he was using it as an example to teach me rather than just trying to reassure you.”

“Please,” Morgana said, her green eyes hungry for hope. Merlin braced himself against the sick feeling of betraying kin that rose up and repeated the official - sanitized - diagnosis Gaius had prepared for Morgana’s condition.

“The mind can absorb details about your surroundings that don’t immediately stand out. We aren’t always aware of all the things bouncing around our heads at all times, and the more intelligent the person the more ideas can be bubbling away in the back of our minds at once. That is where sudden epiphanies and creative inspirations come from: one of those things that has been itching at the back of your mind suddenly comes together and is thrust up to the front where we become aware of it. When we sleep, the mind can focus all its power on dealing with those things and that is why sometimes the solution to a problem is obvious in the morning light when it was elusive before. In your case, your mind churns through things while you sleep very rapidly and when you see something that is similar to your dreams it gets reinforced by your waking mind with filled-in details immediately. It is unfortunate it comes out as nightmares, but that is part of how your mind works.”

“The boy said I would be powerful,” Morgana said, still frowning, “that it was written in the stars.”

“Oh, I’m sure he had the whole bard’s song planned out in his head. I wouldn’t worry about that at all,” Merlin said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Merlin,” Arthur warned, one finger poking the handle on his empty cup. Merlin chose to ignore the subtle hint entirely. Gwen stepped away from the table.

“You heard them apologize for his behavior and promise to take him to task for being so manipulative,” Merlin answered back, his unwillingness to drug the closest thing to friends he had in Camelot coming out as frustration in his voice. “Oh, you aren’t worried I had any interest in going along with his little plan, were you Arthur? I don’t, I promise. It’s quite impossible, anyway, and not only because the King would order you to hunt us down and you’d quite happily skin me alive just for thinking about it for too long.”

“What plan?” Gwen asked, the jug of wine from the antechamber in her hand. She poured for Arthur and Morgana while Merlin answered.

“Oh, you see, Mordred - they told us the boy’s name straight off - Mordred thought we could be quite powerful if we all ran away to live in the forest together. A very powerful little family, that is, given his vivid imagination.” Merlin intentionally babbled. People tended to miss details and assume things if he babbled enough at them, or else get tired of hearing him speak and dropped whatever subject got him rambling for a while. “He figured no one would like living in a city half as much as living in the wood, so inviting us along was doing us a favor. As a powerful telepath there were a few things he could tell about us. Not a lot, mind you, he wasn’t digging around in our memories or we’d have felt attacked, just a few things more than other people can notice with a glance. He used that to tell us a bit of what we wanted to hear. With my formal training I’m probably the most educated - and by his understanding the highest ranked - man my age he’d met, at least as far as he understood our behavior even after I explained about physicians. I doubt he understands that I cured his fever without magic, it wouldn’t make sense to him.”

“So, he assumed you were a Lord because you were educated?” Lady Morgana asked, but then hurried on before anyone could answer. “Well, you did have your fancy outfit on, and it makes a lot of sense, with how he acted when you weren’t around. He deferred to you more than either of us.”

“I thought it was just that we were women,” Gwen supposed, “or that Merlin had been rather strict when he scolded the boy for not being properly respectful.”

“No, it was more than that. He never used Merlin’s name, and when he asked if he was coming back to help him escape he said, ‘will he lead us soon?’ Do you think he thought we were under Merlin’s care?” Morgana said thoughtfully. Arthur snorted at that.

“Merlin, a Lord with you as his charge? That’s ridiculous.”

“He’s Jimmy’s age, Arthur, and I doubt he knows anything about the court drama of Camelot,” Merlin chuckled. The idea was pretty wild, but the more far-fetched and exaggerated this got the better. “You have to think about this from that point of view, too. Something out of a child’s game of pretend.”

“What was he planning for you, then, in this game of pretend?” Gwen asked, smiling. Lady Morgana looked equally amused. Arthur sipped the wine, frowning into the cup suspiciously after he swallowed. Merlin reached over and boldly poured wine into the other two cups, setting one in front of where Gwen was standing.

“I took care of him, and he figured I’d want to keep doing that. Same for Lady Morgana, and he could tell she worried about her dreams either because of the medicine or something you two said or did in front of him. He fit that into the template of an exciting legend: The seer, the wise man, and the warrior are all common figures in legends, aren’t they? There once was a family who outsmarted some terrifying knights so that they might live in peace in the forest. Over many years they became the highest of all the druid families. Mother and Father were a wise man and a seer, and their son grew to be a fierce warrior….”

“Mother and Father!” Arthur shouted, outraged.

“He wanted us to run away together and take care of him. What did you think that meant?” Merlin asked, throwing his hands up in mock frustration.

“Oh, that’s entirely your fault, my lady,” Gwen said with a bright laugh. “I told you, you shouldn’t have been teasing Merlin like that.”

“I didn’t do anything inappropriate,” Lady Morgana defended herself, straightening up in her chair regally.

“He was a scared, sick little boy stuck in bed all day with nothing to do. He made up a fantasy, which was fine, but then he started to believe it and tried to make it happen, which wasn’t. The Druid elders said they’d set him straight about why what he did wasn’t proper, and were very apologetic about the trouble,” Merlin said in summary.

“So, that’s all it is, then?” Arthur asked, his voice flat.

“You don’t _want_ it to be true that Lady Morgana and I are both gifted with powerful magic, do you?” Merlin asked, managing not to emphasize the wrong word thanks to a lifetime of deflecting attention. The skin around Arthur’s eyes twitched angrily, and Merlin knew including Morgana in his hypothetical execution was irritating him. “You’d have to kill us both, or watch us be killed. If the word of a scared child was enough to condemn us you would have left me with the Druids while I was sick and let the king blame me for Mordred’s escape.” Merlin boldly took a sip of the wine. It was much stronger than the thin hydromel that he sometimes chose when eating with the other servants in the kitchen. Gaius certainly never gave him anything but water.

“It is rather… uncomfortable to think about the consequences,” Arthur said, sounding defeated.

“So, don’t think about it,” Merlin suggested. “We saved the life of an innocent, if slightly unruly, child and in return his guardians gave me some much-needed medicine. I’d rather be celebrating a job well done and hearing more about what happened while I was asleep than agonizing over something that obviously isn’t true. You said you caught those rabbits we brought back while out hunting with them. What was that like?”

“You just left him behind and went hunting while Merlin was unconscious?” Lady Morgana asked, sounding quite offended on Merlin’s behalf. He took another sip of wine, and then ducked out to get the plate of bread, cheese, and grapes.

“They phrased it as an invitation, but I got the impression I was making their women and children uncomfortable. Most of them kept their distance from the healer’s home even though it was right in the middle of their camp, and when the smaller children got too close their mothers pulled them back rather strictly,” Arthur said. Merlin set the plate down in easy reach of everyone and studied the discomfort on Arthur’s face.

“They were afraid of you,” Lady Morgana observed.

“The hunters put up a brave face and didn’t show any hesitation in talking to me. Some of them were women,” Arthur continued, voice ringing with remembered surprise at the thought of warrior women. “Armed just like the men with bows and copper knives.”

“I guess in that camp they choose their jobs based just as much on their magical ability, or lack thereof, as on gender,” Merlin said with a shrug.

“Don’t all Druids have magic?” Gwen asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Merlin corrected. “It’s like being able to sing - some people have a real talent for it and others just can’t no matter how hard they try.”

“So those women who can’t use magic learn to use some other tool, and it doesn’t matter if it’s something we think a man would normally do,” Lady Morgana said, nodding. “So long as it’s something they are good at, they are allowed.”

“It was strange, but not in a bad way,” Arthur concluded, taking a deep swallow of wine. “They don’t really have a hierarchy like what we would expect. Each of them works to perfect their chosen craft, for the good of the clan, and whoever knows the most about a subject is considered senior in that specific moment. Their leaders speak for them as a group when they need to speak with other clans or outsiders, but they all talk together about any issues that come up. The leader doesn’t actually rule over the clan, just listens to everyone else and helps the debate along until they reach a majority consensus.” Lady Morgana sipped her wine as the prince spoke, looking thoughtful.

“The Greeks had that in some places,” Merlin said with a decisive nod. “They called it Polis, I think, and the Romans had a Quorum.”

“The Romans called it a Senate,” Arthur corrected, “and that was still a collection of Noble men coming together to talk about issues in their own lands, and then the Emperor would make his ruling the same as a King with his council.”

“Smaller scale, it isn’t an Empire.” Merlin shrugged. “Fifty people don’t need class distinctions to stay organized.”

“I suppose not.”

“What else were they like?” Lady Morgana asked.

“Simple,” Arthur answered. “They wore rough-spun clothing and slept on piles of grass in small tents. There were a few sturdier buildings, but not many. Even then, I think only the one we stayed in couldn’t be folded up and carted off when the seasons change. They follow roughly the same path across undeveloped lands every year, following where the wild plants are fruiting the most which is also where the hunting is the best.”

“It sounds normal enough,” Gwen said, worried. Her eyes were locked on some distant point, and Merlin had the distinct impression she was remembering the time she spent in the dungeons awaiting her own execution.

“Did we miss anything interesting in the last couple days?” Merlin asked, looking purposefully between Gwen and Lady Morgana. “You know I can’t stand missing out on the latest gossip.”

“Oh, there was the most scandalous news about that new cobbler and the old Baker’s widow,” Lady Morgana started up, much to Arthur’s displeasure. “He’s almost young enough to be her grandson, but they were seen walking together late the other night and… .” The girls were soon on a roll with all the latest news from the lower town, the dark shadow in Gwen’s eyes fading as they giggled and theorized over the latest drama. Merlin and Arthur were mostly silent, aside from the odd word of agreement or disbelief, and all four of them started draining their cups. Merlin wondered if Arthur remembered that the potion couldn’t be mixed with alcohol, but the Prince didn’t seem concerned about Merlin’s disobedience for the time being.

“Do you think there is any weight behind that rumor you mentioned?” Arthur asked Merlin carefully when the girls came to the end of their gossiping. “About me and Morgana?”

“Of all the things I babbled about while to sick to think properly, you want me to expand on that one?” Merlin puzzled, his face pinched with curiosity.

“It has been bothering me. We have certain common traits,” Arthur hedged.

“Well, that gets into a frankly ancient debate about how much is inborn in a person and how much is learned as a child grows. You can always take the Old Religion’s method if you find the rules you grew up with lacking. They are a little more explicit about these things.”

“If there is some kind of test,” Arthur supposed, “I’m not sure I’d want it.”

“Er, no, it’s just one of those ‘better be safe than sorry’ sort of rules. If the answer to this particular type of question is maybe, then assume yes and operate accordingly,” Merlin shrugged. “The social protocols have merit here, too, and in that case if you grow up with the same parent, then you are family no matter what your blood is.”

“What exactly is this rumor?” Morgana asked shrewdly.

“Something the people that live beyond Camelot’s borders believe. They say that my father was not faithful to my mother after she did not produce an heir promptly, and that we might be half-siblings,” Arthur stated. “It’s stuck in my mind. Our supposedly inevitable courtship has been rather easily put off, and father’s attitude toward it suspiciously unenthusiastic. Given the things he’s taught me on the subject, securing a fruitful marriage should become one of my top priorities once I come of age, yet he has done very little to encourage us to spend time together since we became old enough for such things and when the subject comes up it is always about choosing a foreign bride to solidify an alliance.”

“If you were both raised by the same man, then according to the old ways you are kin,” Merlin advised. “Though that point really is moot if you feel strongly enough to wonder if there is a magic way out of it. Just say the thing you feel plainly: you see her as a sister and won’t marry her. Easy as that.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur snipped.

“Oi, you are the one who asked, and for the second time today at that,” Merlin huffed and finished off his wine. He picked at some of the cheese, knowing that just drinking was a poor choice and wishing his nerves hadn’t destroyed his appetite.

“You think of me as your sister?” Morgana asked, voice carefully scrubbed of any opinion on the idea.

“I don’t think about you romantically,” Arthur hedged. “Yet. Arguably, if I was going to, I would already. What Merlin said is mostly accurate, and I’ve recently had cause to consider the implications of kissing one’s sister in that manner.”

“This is the thing he takes away from a couple days in a Druid camp?” Merlin whispered a bit too loudly at Gwen. “He sees them leech some of the poison out of me, and use magic in all their everyday tasks from talking to mending socks, and it’s their rules about who can lay with who and when he gets tangled up in.”

“You got more tangled up in them than I did!” Arthur accused.

“I did nothing wrong,” Merlin defended, blushing brightly. “I was offered assistance washing the medicine off my skin and I took it.”

“You went bathing with a girl and got caught?” Lady Morgana guessed.

“Getting caught implies we were sneaking about or doing something sordid. Rein walked me out to the stream through the middle of their camp in full daylight to make sure the swift current didn’t drown me while I was still dazed.” Merlin sat back with his arms crossed and pouted at Arthur. “There was nothing wrong with him helping wash me, and you’ll remember that I _didn_ _’t_ take his offer to go back to his tent.”

“Sounds no different than what Merlin does for you, Arthur,” Morgana said slyly. The self-righteous staring contest between Merlin and Arthur broke instantly at Morgana’s words, bright blushes covering both men’s faces. Arthur cleared his throat loudly and shifted in his chair enough to creek the wood.

“Bit different,” Merlin mumbled. “I’ve never had to scrub stains out of his skin like that.”

“Merlin was coated in some kind of green paste everywhere to draw out the evil from his body,” Arthur said, his voice detached. “Given the strength of the poison, they didn’t spare him anything for modesty’s sake. They worked it into his hair, coated the bottom of his feet, and painted everything in between.”

“Oh, my,” Gwen gasped.

“I was turned completely green until I bathed. Scrubbing was a necessary part of the treatment.” Merlin forced his voice into its usual cadence and his body into a casual posture. “The entire procedure was designed to pull out the remaining toxic elements and leaving any residue behind might allow them seep back into my body. They simply took a volunteer who didn’t mind being very thorough.”

“You do look well,” Morgana said, a contemplative look in her eyes above her teasing smile. “Bright rosy cheeks instead of overly pale.”

“I feel well,” Merlin confirmed, ignoring the teasing. “I’m not cured, but I’m greatly improved. I might be completely back to normal by Yule instead of it dragging on into the spring.”

“A freedman manservant apprentice physician from a tiny village who can read several languages and studied enough about the Greeks to have an opinion on their government? You wouldn’t know normal if it hit you in the face,” Lady Morgana said with a giggle.

“I can remember the things I study from books better than other people can,” Merlin said. “As far as natural talents go, I can’t really complain. It fits my life. I just have an odd life.”


	13. Autumn Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seasons are changing and Merlin's life is changing right along with them.

Gaius didn’t approve of the wobble in Merlin’s gait when he returned, but Merlin explained that Gwen had served wine and the potion wouldn’t work in wine. It was the perfect excuse not to use it, so they had gossiped and sipped strong wine until they had to part, and none of them believed that Mordred’s claim was anything more than a comforting story the boy told himself. It didn’t completely sooth his Uncle’s worries.

The older man was happily surprised that Merlin knew his full family history and confirmed its accuracy as far as he was aware. They traded stories about Ealdor and the days before The Purge as they ate their own dinner. With the other villagers shunning them much of the time, keeping Merlin indoors with a book or attached to his father’s hip had been the best way to keep him safe. Hunith had mentioned Jaybird in her letters to Gaius a couple times over the years, but the details were so sparse Gaius had thought he was just a helpful woodsman or neighbor. All in all, the older man seemed pleased that Merlin’s home had not been as broken as he’d previously assumed.

With Mabon proper at the end of the week and the first big harvest of the season already beginning, the villages that ringed the city were buzzing with activity. The sons and daughters of many of the city’s common families were sent out as temporary farm hands, and carts full of young people passed through the gates at first light. The extra activity and employment of boys who did not spend the whole year around farm animals had the side-effect of bringing more patients to Gaius’s door. Merlin was sent to spend two days out in the greenwood harvesting as many herbs as he could before the season started to turn and was allowed to use the horse Arthur usually assigned him when he followed the prince out of the city to do so more efficiently. The time out of the city was meant to help him calm his nerves after having narrowly avoided drugging his friends, but on the first day he ended up worrying about what was going on back in the citadel constantly. That Arthur hadn’t mentioned the potion at all was almost worse than having an argument about it, but not alarming enough to bring it up on his own.

 For convenience on the second day, Merlin had prominently attached the official seals identifying him as the Court Physician’s Apprentice and the writ giving him permission to ride the horse to the saddlebags. The guards and knights on patrol were required to check his papers, and after the illegible mess his dirty hands had made of the originals from being forced to present them on the spot repeatedly he wasn’t keen on needing fresh copies two days in a row. Around midday he brought a thick bundle of uprooted herbs back to where he’d tied the horse near the road to find two people hanging around on the road.

“Hey there, something I can do for you?” Merlin asked an old woman and what looked like her son. They didn’t seem like horse thieves or anything, but he’d already been warned twice not to go so far from the horse he couldn’t see it. It really wasn’t practical, as he had to dig around in the dirt amid high bushes and such, but he did try.

“Is the physician nearby?” the woman asked, pointing at the large embossed symbol for medicine on Merlin’s papers.

“I’m just his apprentice, ma’am,” Merlin explained to the clearly illiterate pair. “Did you have an accident on the road? I have a few emergency aid supplies if someone is injured.”

“No, no, it is my granddaughter,” the woman insisted, a tear coming to her eye. “She’s come down with a terrible sickness, and it is spreading through the other children.”

“My daughter’s playmates began to show the first signs yesterday,” the man continued, settling an arm over his mother’s shoulder. “My wife has been tending her the last few days to little effect, and when the others started to show the same signs Harold, our village leader, demanded we head to the city for help.”

“Where do you live?” Merlin asked, stuffing the herbs into one of his saddle bags. The older woman pointed west down the road in the direction Merlin had been heading, then hooked her finger slightly.

“Robert’s Rest, a small village just north of Howden.” Merlin looked up at the sun and thought about the distances involved. It wouldn’t be a long ride. If he took an hour gathering information in the village he could be back in Camelot with plenty of daylight left. Then, Gaius could tell him what to do about it.

“I can take a look, properly document her symptoms and bring it back to Gaius,” Merlin suggested.

“The Court Physician?” the man asked, a little startled. “I don’t think we can afford skill like that, sir, but an apprentice’s bill we could surely pay.”

“I’m no ‘sir,’ my name is Merlin. I don’t think I’ll be much help on my own. I’ve been learning about herbs in my mum’s garden since I can remember, but I’ve only been studying in the city since spring,” Merlin sighed as he dusted off his hands. “I’d hate to give advice that would harm more than help. Besides, if it’s spreading the way you fear it is, Gaius will want to know about it so we can watch for signs in other villages. Getting a detailed accounting of what is going on back to him is the best I can promise.” The man rolled his eyes and started to turn away.

“Then we’ll keep on to the city,” the man sighed.

“You do your best,” the woman insisted, grabbing Merlin’s hand and pressing something small into his palm. “Whatever your mama taught you, you use it proper, understand? Don’t let those fancy city folk make you doubt yourself.”

“I will, ma’am, but my best might be writing it all down and going back so Gaius can figure out what is causing it. I can’t promise any more than that,” Merlin soothed. The woman nodded forcefully, somehow looking sternly down at him despite being small and bent from age.

“He’ll write it, he said,” the woman said with feeling as her son lead her away. Merlin untied his horse and made sure his bags were all secure, the short string of colorful polished beads the woman gave him tucked into his jacket pocket. “That was worth stopping for, Eric, and don’t you grumble at me for insisting. Back in the old days, healers could write signs on doors to keep sickness from spreading far. If this apprentice already knows how to write down the sickness, at least the other children will be safe.”

Merlin didn’t hear Eric’s answer to that over the sound of his horse kicking up to a speedy canter, mindful of the mare’s endurance under the half-full bags of herbs and hoping she could be well watered while he checked on the little girl. He slowed down as he passed through Howden, making sure he took the right road and explaining why he was headed that way to the soldiers that checked his papers as he passed through. One of the pair gave him detailed instructions about a side road that would shave a nearly a mile off his journey back to the city.

Robert’s Rest was a small village built on a ridge, with herds of sheep grazing on the two nearby hills and some ripening fields in the triangular valley between the three peaks. While he dismounted and tied his horse by the empty trough in front of the local tavern one of the local women saw his seals and started shouting down the street that a healer had arrived. He tried to hail her to correct the mistake, but an athletic man with salt and pepper hair came out of the tavern flanked by several worried looking men to intercept him. Merlin was keenly aware that the hunting knife strapped to his belt was his only real protection in the remote village where using magic could likely have him lynched, and he sketched a nervous gesture in greeting to the approaching men.

“You heal the sick?” the broad man asked.

“I’m the apprentice to the Court Physician. I met Eric and his mother on the road, and they told me there is a sickness threatening to spread through the children here. I’m afraid I might not be able to help much on my own, but in the worst case I can bring a report back to the city so Gaius can review it,” Merlin said in a rush.

“I’m Harold, the village leader. We can’t afford to pay you as a messenger,” the man grumbled.

“Such messages are part of my responsibilities,” Merlin assured, “and even if they weren’t Gaius is my Uncle as well as my teacher. We live together, talking to him is no trouble for me.” Harold’s eyes narrowed as he gave Merlin a critical look. The lack of stubble was the most obvious giveaway for Merlin’s true age, his impressive height making him seem older only to those who didn’t pay him enough attention to notice the details.

“You’re a boy,” he huffed.

“Afraid so, sir, but I was nearby, and I’m dedicated to my trade. A written report from me will help speed the response, one way or the other. As I said, I demand no payment for it as I am already expected to do such things, and it would do no harm to let me examine the children,” Merlin explained. “I know how to measure vitals and I have those tools with me. I only need some clean water to do the work and some for my horse, so she can take me home.”

Harold nodded to that and one of the men went to fetch the needed water. While he waited Merlin asked the price of a hot lunch, more out of politeness than anything else, and was glad he had enough coppers on him when the question was taken as an order. The burliest man out of the group was the barkeep, and he said he’d have the food waiting and the horse tended when Merlin was done. His outstretched expectant hand had Merlin pulling the little pouch of coins he wore on a lanyard out from under his ratty tunic in a scurry, though the promise of hot stew made handing them over less painful.

He was led past a small wooden home with a rope tied across the door to stop it from opening all the way. The man insisted Merlin look at the other children first, so he wouldn’t spread their filth despite Merlin’s insistence that that was what the water was for. A group of four children were lined up in front of one house, age five to nine, all of them with obvious runny noses. Merlin checked each one carefully, taking them inside one at a time so he could check them properly for the spots the worried parents told him the first girl was covered in. Two of them had the spots, and all complained of being itchy. Merlin took the initiative to clip all their fingernails and warn them off scratching when he noticed the lone boy of the group drawing blood from his arm in the effort to stop the itch. There was something very familiar about it all, though he couldn’t quite place it, and he advised the mothers to wash the children gently with a little crushed sage in the water to sooth the scratching. That was one remedy he knew well thanks to all the rashes he’d seen treated.

When he finally was allowed to see the sick girl he’d come looking for, he thought it would be a simple thing. The other children were all lively enough, grumpy and shoving at each other impatiently as they waited their turn with him. He’d written down all their vitals and counted their spots, noting the areas they appeared on. He’d do the same for this sicker child. A woman with deeply tan skin and a thick Frankish accent opened the door when the handle was untied. Between the accent and her worried tears, he could barely make out what she was saying.

“If it is easier, we could talk in this language,” Merlin offered in his best Frankish. “I will do my best to help the girl, but you must take a breath and speak clearly for me.”

“My little girl is dying,” she said in her native language, startled enough by his sudden switch in language to slow her sobbing. “She burns in fever and I have only so much water to give her. They do not let us out. Please, tell them I must be allowed out more than once in the day.”

“I am only an apprentice healer, but I will do what I can. The other children have ten or twenty spots and wet noses. How long was she like that before the fever?” Merlin asked, writing down the new symptom in the cheap book of notes Gaius had him carry everywhere with a thin leather-wrapped stick of charcoal. The last entry before this had been orders to gather some of the herbs that only matured in autumn and the dates Arthur’s extended autumn patrol would bring Merlin nearby to natural clusters of them. Seeing him writing seemed to calm down the villagers and make them listen to him more carefully, and he wondered if they even had a proper record keeper of their own or if someone who knew how to write came from the nearby town to do the job.

“A day or two, and she has been burning away for the last three days,” the mother said, watching Merlin’s hand carefully. “She has spots everywhere, and they ooze foul fluids. She sleeps only when she is exhausted by the pain, and cries the rest of the day and night.” Merlin gave her a sad smile.

“I have said the other children are to wash with sage water for the itching. If they will not let you out, they should bring more water for you for that,” Merlin said. “Let me see her now.”

The little girl was as tan as her mother under a dense rash of spots too numerous to count, her curly black hair damp with sweat. Merlin was careful in how he touched her as he made his measurements. The poor child’s mouth was dry with sores inside, and she moaned pitifully the entire time he tended her. He poured some of the clean water he’d been carrying around into the half-full pitcher the mother was rationing and poured the rest into a basin so he could wash the girl with a cloth. He didn’t have any sage with him, but he’d been assured the village had plenty of it to hand. When he cleared away the chalk the mother had used to try and draw out the oozing fluids he could clearly see the girl had red scratches from her little fingernails all over, and some of them were hot and weeping with infection.

“You must keep her fingernails trimmed short and smooth,” Merlin told the woman as they bathed the girl. “She will make this worse if she keeps pulling off the scabs and making herself bleed. Wrap her hands with cloth if you have to, and keep these spots and scratches clean like you would a deep cut for fear of infection until I come back.”

“Yes, yes, I will,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“I will bring all of what I wrote to the Court Physician, who I am learning from, and come back with his orders as soon as I can,” Merlin assured. An outbreak like this was concerning, but Merlin knew how long Gaius’ the list of patients was. He knew that even this shallow promise was likely a stretch of his authority he’d be hard-pressed to fulfill.

“Don’t touch me, the girl’s wounds are weeping infection and I’m wet with it,” Merlin warned as he left the small house, pushing the door closed with his foot. He was glad he’d shucked off his jacket and neckerchief after seeing the first weeping spot. Most of the men had left, but one of the worried fathers who had been meeting in the tavern when he arrived stayed with him to hold Merlin’s shed clothing and escort him around. “The girl needs more clean water brought for her regularly, both for drinking to quench her fever and with sage to wash like the rest of them. If Harold won’t let her mother out to fetch it as needed, she’s going to deny herself for her child’s cake and then they will both be ill. For now, I need somewhere to wash so I don’t spread it. I don’t mind going down to the stream if there is a route handy.”

“Is that safe?” The man asked, leading him from beyond arm’s reach. “If the sheep drink tainted water and fall ill it will be the death of all of us.”

“If it’s steady flowing water it’s safe, and I have a bottle of prepared herbs with me that I use to clean infection off myself. It’s not suitable for use directly on a wound, but it will prevent me from spreading any infected yellow bile around,” Merlin said, pulling the pungent mixture of distilled alcohol and herbs out of the bag of emergency supplies Gaius taught him to make up for travel. His escort brought him down a dangerous looking set of stairs cut into the cliff face. Merlin watched his feet carefully, terrified he would trip and crack his skull open on the rocks below while the much wider man in front of him walked along as if it was nothing. The stream at the bottom was moving swiftly. Merlin stripped off his tunic and poured the alcoholic soap on it. He scrubbed his arms and torso with the acrid mixture before pulling off his boots and socks to walk into the stream and rinse off as fast as he could. The stuff always made his skin tingle ominously, and he knew it would burn a hole in cloth if it was left to sit overnight so he was sure to rinse everything thoroughly. A look at the sun told him he’d been in the village over two hours, much longer than he’d expected.

“Thank you for leading me around, this is more than I first thought it was,” Merlin said as he wrung out his clothes and put them back on.

“Is it very bad?” the man worried.

“I’d hoped to find one sick child and some over cautious mothers hovering over children with some minor ache easily countered,” Merlin sighed. “Whatever this is causes infected wounds from scratching too much, which is why I told them to wash, but that’s not the reason they are sick. Would you walk ahead of me on the way back? I’m a bit clumsy and I’d rather watch where you put your feet than knock us both off the cliff.”

“You can hang your clothes by the fire in the tavern when we get there,” the man suggested.

“I’ll dry fast enough,” Merlin assured as they started back up the scary rough-cut stair. The afternoon sun was still hot enough to dry him without getting too chilled, particularly after the silent spell he cast behind the man’s back before starting up the staircase. “I’m more interested in some quick food and the road back. I haven’t had anything since dawn, and the faster I get back to Gaius the quicker I’ll have an answer.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” the man asked hopefully.

“I’ve got duties in the morning tomorrow I’m sure I can’t pass off,” Merlin hedged. “I’ll be back soon, but I’m skipping out on my herb gathering work to do this and that will have to be made up sometime. Harvest season is just as busy for us as everyone else, and I’m part of Prince Arthur’s household staff when I’m not working with Gaius. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but it wouldn’t be worth a trip back if I don’t have anything valuable to bring with me. With luck, we’ll find the answer quickly when we check our books this evening. I can help make the medicine tomorrow afternoon and be back late tomorrow or early the day after.”

“Then we’ll pray for luck,” the man sighed.

Merlin attacked the large plate of roasted lamb with root vegetables drowned in gravy he sat in front of. He rarely got fresh meat like this, his meals normally full of grains and vegetables with some jerky, fruit, and cheese to round it out. Fish and other fresh meat was special, whatever was left over from the Noble’s meals being divided among the servants on a rotation or put into a stew. Gaius and Merlin normally got their share of roasted meat on Saturdays. His breakfast was usually plain porridge and whatever Arthur didn’t finish, which was mostly grains, nuts, or vegetables. As he ate, he heard the man who led him around talking to the others at the bar, discussing what to do about the sickness and the medical advice he’d given. It seemed like they thought he couldn’t hear them from that distance over the fire he’d been parked in front of, but Merlin’s ears didn’t stick out so far for nothing. The man summarized everything he’d done and said. Several of them worried the nobles would ignore their plight and they’d never see Merlin again.

“He’ll be back for certain, and as soon as he can,” Merlin heard the man who’d led him around say. “If only ‘cause of how he’s gone at that plate. The boy’s thin enough to count his bones, I saw it when he washed the foulness off in the river. They keep him working without a stop, from the sound of it.”

“If he’s that thin, maybe he isn’t who he says he is,” Harold wondered. “Someone high like that would get good food.”

“You said he’s working for the Prince,” the barkeep argued. “We all saw the royal seal on his papers, too. The Court Physician’s an old man from what I remember, started his service to the King’s father. With him being the Court Physician’s boy, he’s probably aiming to be the replacement when Prince Arthur takes the throne. That’s no small goal, and he can’t rely on his noble blood for it. He has to be able to do the job on the merits, too.”

“What you thinking about, Mike? I know that look on you,” one of the men Merlin hadn’t talked to said.

“Well,” the barkeep reluctantly continued, “it makes me think, if he’s working that hard. If he’s got some political ambition, stopping a plague before it spreads to the towns would look good on him, but he said he put some other job aside to come here. That’s trouble for him if it doesn’t work out. I figure he will either come back with a cure in a rush to do some grand thing, or they’ll take him to task for wasting time over something the other nobles don’t care about.”

“I don’t know of any high-born physicians,” Merlin called across the room, startling the men. “Gaius and I are freedmen, but our family lives on a small village farm near the border. That’s why I’m thin, we had some bad winters back home.”

“Got some ears on you, boy,” Harold grumped.

“Part of the job is to have keen senses,” Merlin chirped. “You don’t have to worry about me not coming back because of all that. I’m here because I have a duty to investigate spreading sickness when I hear about it, so it won’t get me in trouble. It’s not about doing some grand thing either, this is just my job. I was involved in the sickness in the city last spring, and I’d hate to see something like that happen again. Though, your friend has a point about the food. This is delicious enough, I might come back some happier time when I’m not so busy even without the horse. It’s not that long of a walk.” Merlin stuffed the last bits of roasted potato and onion in his mouth, chasing the remaining gravy around with the spoon and wondering if it would be unforgivably poor table manners to drink it off the plate. Gaius was determined to break him of his village-born table manners, but it seemed like such a waste to throw away even a little of the thick gravy.

“If you come back with a cure, be sure to bring an empty pot with you. I’ll fill it,” the barkeep challenged. Merlin sighed.

“Then I really hope this is the type of sickness with that simple of a treatment,” he called back.


	14. A Pox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is sent out as an apprentice physician.

Merlin got back an hour before sunset with one of his saddlebags empty instead of both of them full. Gaius listened carefully to his explanation about the sick children and what he’d done with a worried frown. Merlin ended up with a couple thick books laid out in front of him full of gruesome illustrations while Gaius looked over his notes and went back to the bubbling flasks he’d been working over when Merlin came in. Every so often someone knocked on the door, but Gaius gently turned them away saying that unless it was an emergency he would be seeing patients tomorrow morning when his medicines were finished brewing. Merlin had just begun to question his life choices as he flipped through page after page of oozing ailments when Jimmy bounced in the door.

“Freeze,” Gaius ordered the boy. “Merlin encountered some children sick with a pox today.”

“Prince Arthur wants him,” Jimmy said with an unhappy pout, standing on one leg where he’d ‘frozen.’

“Tell the Prince that Merlin will be a while, then fetch us three pails of water,” Gaius ordered.

“I washed in the river!” Merlin protested. “I don’t need two baths!”

“You dunked yourself in your clothes,” Gaius dismissed. “You’ll wash properly and change clothes before you go anywhere. Oh, where did I put that book?” Gaius bent back to the cabinet he had been digging through, old casebooks and record sheets stacking up in a pile next to him. Jimmy scurried off with the speed only the fear of two baths a day can put in a young boy.

Merlin complained the entire time he scrubbed himself in the cold, shallow bath. Once a week in a warm tub was plenty unless he was in the stocks or mucking the stables, twice in a day with cold water was simply ridiculous. He changed into his good clothes to see what was so important it couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning when Merlin was officially back on duty as the Prince’s manservant. Sure, he didn’t usually have two days with Gaius in a row, and since he’d always switch masters after breakfast there had never been a whole day dawn to dusk he didn’t see Arthur before now, but surely Arthur could last one full day without him?

“Sire,” Merlin greeted as he walked into the Prince’s chambers. He was sure to instill the word with as much put-upon suffering and sarcasm as he could.

“Would it kill you to be even slightly obedient?” Arthur asked from his desk.

“I was forced to have a bath in icy water straight from the pump before I came up, thanks for that,” Merlin quipped. “What did you need me for?”

“I want you to serve me tonight at dinner. It’s just a gathering of knights in the East Hall, but those with wives and families in the city are bringing them along so it’s formal,” Arthur announced. “Jimmy and Francis will be sitting with their families, of course.”

“Gaius got a little protective after I gave him my report today. He has me looking through illustrations of oozing sores to try and find a match to the ones I saw earlier,” Merlin reluctantly informed the Prince.

“Then you are welcome for the rescue,” Arthur pompously declared, shutting the ledger he’d been working in with a thump and starting toward the changing screen.

“Arthur, I mean I think I should go back to it,” Merlin clarified.

“Don’t be that way,” the prince dismissed. “You aren’t saying serving my dinner is worse than looking at a book of horrors.”

“Gaius is my master until breakfast tomorrow, there are other servants that can attend you. If it isn’t important I’m going to go.”

“You are always my servant first, Merlin, now get over here and help me get ready,” Arthur demanded, the first edge of anger in his voice.

“I know you have the right to call on me at any hour. I’m just telling you I think it would be wrong to leave a girl of six to suffer and die as all her body’s fluids leak out because I’m busy keeping your cup full,” Merlin shot back. That bought Arthur up short. “I had to have _a second bath in one day_ before Gaius even let me come up here. I don’t think I should be serving food.”

“Oh, you should have said so,” Arthur said.

“Didn’t Jimmy give you Gaius’ message?”

“Well, he didn’t say you were _contaminated_ or that a child was deathly ill. He just said you’d been with someone sick and needed to change clothes.”

“Can I go?” Merlin asked, twitching his head at the door.

“Yes, yes, go.” Arthur waved at him as if he smelled foul. Merlin turned on his heel to leave, pulling the door open in a rush and crashing bodily into the person on the other side. The fist raised to knock on the door bonked Merlin on the head instead.

“Sorry,” Merlin said reflexively, stumbling back.

“In a hurry, Merlin?” Sir Leon teased.

“There’s a sick little girl that needs me to be down in Gaius’ workshop,” Merlin babbled.

“You help Master Gaius fix ouches?” a little voice said from behind Leon’s leg. A fluffy head of curly red hair matching the tall knight’s own peaked out to peer at Merlin. He hadn’t realized Leon had a daughter.

“Oh! Don’t touch!” Merlin said, dancing backwards when she stepped forward. “I’ve been washing up sick.” Leon got a firm hand on his daughter before she could get any closer.

“You look clean,” Sir Leon said mildly.

“I ought to. I’ve had two baths today, but better safe than sorry, right?” Merlin smiled at the scared little girl. Oddly, she seemed to be shooting more fearful looks at Arthur than the possible plague carrier in the room. “You wouldn’t want to have to have two baths a day, would you?”

“That’s too many,” she said wisely, looking shyly at Merlin.

“Especially for a boy,” Merlin assured.

“Boy’s get muddy for fun,” she nodded back, glancing up at her father before smiling at Merlin conspiratorially. “Even daddy.”

“Exactly right. When I was little I thought it was the greatest fun to play with clay, but I got it from my toes to my ears and my mother was none too happy with my father for teaching me how to mix it right,” Merlin joked, standing far back from the door so he and Leon could get around each other easily. “I have to get back to work right away, but it was nice to meet you both.” She gave Merlin a little wave, pulling against her father’s hold on her shoulder to keep a chair between her and Arthur. Merlin gave the two noblemen a bow and rushed from the room, slightly more careful not to crash into anyone.

When Merlin got back down to Gaius the older man had found the casebook he was looking for. Merlin showed him a few of the pages he’d marked as being similar but not quite right and they went over the symptoms again. The older man narrowed down Merlin’s search a bit, and within half an hour he’d found a familiar image of spots that were described as itchy and red.

“As I suspected, chicken pox,” Gaius huffed. “You wouldn’t happen to know if you’ve had them already? It’s a disease that can only be caught once.” Merlin pursed his lips, the memory of the other village boys clucking at him while he was ill stirring up from some dusty corner of his mind where he’d shoved the bulk of their childish bullying. They’d all gotten sick that season.

“I’m pretty sure I have,” Merlin said slowly. “I was really little, though.”

“It’s easier on women and children than it is on grown men, and it spreads like wildfire,” he sighed. “This casebook has a list of everyone I’ve treated for it, and the King is not one of them.”

“Is Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“Yes, when he was three,” Gaius sighed. “Though that was almost too young, of course.” Merlin nodded along. He knew toddlers were endangered by the weakest illnesses. “Lady Morgana had been kept clear of it, though I’d actually suggested exposing her for her own good. She’s nearly two years older than the Prince, so it would have been safe enough.”

“This girl is six, though, and she looked like death was hovering over her,” Merlin argued, aghast at the thought of intentionally spreading sickness around.

“That’s because of how she’s been treated. She needs to replenish her fluids and is being denied water. She’s been allowed to scratch herself bloody and the wounds became infected. You made the right call in telling her mother to wrap the girl’s hands so she couldn’t do herself any more damage,” Gaius explained, giving Merlin an affectionate little shove. “You’ve impressed me again; your course of treatment is nearly perfect. We just need to make up an infusion of willow bark to treat the fever. For the itch we’ll add ground oats, clove, and a pinch of a few other herbs to a dry preparation for the sage water baths you prescribed to increase the potency. Honestly, covering a child’s wounds with chalk and dust. Wherever do people get these wrong-headed ideas?”

“Will you go out to Robert’s Rest, or…?” Merlin let the question hang, aware that a trip that far out would be unusual for the physician even if it wasn’t a busy time. There was a man that got caught under a wagon in the lower town, and all the regular patients with seasonal sniffles besides.

“You know Merlin, if you can memorize the dosage chart and warnings for willow bark I think I’ll let you do it,” Gaius suggested, pulling the relevant book over for Merlin to study. “As my official apprentice, you should be up to the task.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

“Rise and shine,” Merlin chirped as he pulled open the shutters in the Prince’s bedroom. He’d been very careful not to spill any of the breakfast on his good clothes. Gaius insisted he wear them, as he’d be riding out later to deliver the medicine to Robert’s Rest and would need to represent his trade and station properly. He also insisted that Merlin was clumsy partly from carelessness about his own appearance, so he’d have to wear them and worry about ruining them in the meantime as an incentive to be more careful generally. There had been quite the buzz when Gaius came with Merlin to the steward at morning check-in to explain his need of a horse this afternoon. He’d copied out sections of two books that detailed chicken pox into his shabby little notebook along with the willow bark dose table and warnings just in case he felt the need to double-check. He would not be responsible for a child bleeding to death due to an overdose.

“You seem cheery,” Arthur pouted. “I take it the child is better?”

“No, but I made her medicine last night. I’ll get it to them this afternoon,” Merlin babbled as he sorted out Arthur’s clothes for the morning.

“Them?”

“There’s five so far, but Gaius says chicken pox spread fast. No worries for you, you were sick with it when you were three.” Merlin pulled the thick blankets off the lazy prince. How Arthur could complain about Merlin being late all the time when he sat about in bed so long after Merlin came in was beyond him. It wasn’t like he was quiet when he set the table for breakfast and changed out the chamber pot, but the prince wouldn’t so much as twitch a finger out of bed until Merlin forced him up most days.

“I’m not sure that’s how sickness works,” Arthur mocked, rolling his eyes as he sat up against his pillows.

“This one does. You get it once and that’s it, never again. I’ve already had it, but I’ll still have to go through another thorough bath when I get back. Gaius has a list of everyone he’s ever treated for it, and even though you’re safe as houses there are plenty of people in the citadel who aren’t,” Merlin chirped. “Now up out of bed, we’ve both got busy days ahead of us.”

“Must not be too serious after all, if it can wait until afternoon.” The prince finally swung his legs out of bed and made for the changing screen.

“It’s all the way out in Robert’s Rest. Gaius got me permission to borrow the horse again, so I can ride out with the treatment,” Merlin said, bubbling with excitement as he dressed the Prince for the long, boring day of logistics and patrol reports ahead of him. “I had it right! Well, nearly right. I didn’t know what it was, but the advice I gave them before I left was all good and proper. I ground oatmeal and herbs together to make a dry mix to wash the spots with last night. I’d only said to use sage before, but the oatmeal and other herbs will make it better. I’ve never used willow bark for fever before, or any medicine that strong on my own, so I’m bringing a copy of the dosage table with me in case I forget.”

“You are really excited about this,” Arthur observed.

“I… Arthur, it’s my first real case,” Merlin said, ducking his head in a sudden wave of shyness. “I’m actually doing it, not just fetching or delivering, but saving lives with medicine on my own. The father of the first sick child flagged me down on the road. I went to observe the patient, and now I’m… I’m going to cure them. Gaius said I can do it on my own. Even if it’s simple, even if I had help on the details and the main reason he’s staying behind is because he’s too busy with his patients here in the city to make the trip, this is my first proper case.”

“You shouldn’t be alone on the road with obvious valuables,” Arthur said, but pursed his lips and glared at the stack of ledgers on his desk. “I’ll see if I can get a volunteer to guard you.”

“Thanks, but be sure to mention chicken pox can only be caught once when you do, and I can’t bring anyone who hasn’t had it yet. It’s much worse for grown men than it is for kids. The description of what the sores are like for men did not look fun.” Merlin crossed his legs while wobbling in an uncomfortable little jig that Arthur seemed to understand perfectly. “Gaius said he tried to get Morgana to catch it from you, but Uther wouldn’t allow it.”

“He tried to get Morgana sick?” Arthur bellowed, just as outraged as Merlin had been.

“I barely remember when I had it, I’d be shocked if you do, and apparently that’s the preferred way to go about it,” Merlin explained, a little chuckle expressing how ridiculous the whole thing sounded. “Get it when you are too young for the memory to stick, instead of having it pop back up years later when something that wasn’t washed properly in the last go-round kicks it up again. Trouble is, the King has never had it, which is part of why Gaius is so wound up. The King’s not likely to let us tie up his hands to stop him from scratching, and the biggest danger is from secondary infection of the skin after the patient scratches themselves bloody.”

“This pox makes people wound themselves?”

“Just scratching, but it affects the skin so if you scratch hard enough you’ll bleed and it will fester,” Merlin answered with a shrug.

“No wonder it’s worse for strong men than it is for children,” Arthur mused as he started on his eggs. “With the way Morgana and other Ladies of the Court keep their nails…”

“They’d be clipped short and rounded off first thing, and much wailing over how unfashionable that is would be heard, I’m sure,” Merlin sighed.

“Good luck, then,” Arthur said, though there was a worried crease between his eyebrows Merlin didn’t understand.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Gaius had enlisted some additional help to grind together more oats and herbs while Merlin was busy with the prince so there would be enough to go around even when the number of sick tripled. They expected it to run through the village until it burnt itself out. The spots would crust over and the sickness would end after a week or so, but that was a week or so for each case with the clock resetting each time a new person was infected. Merlin ate his lunch without taking time to taste it. Francis came to see if Merlin needed help getting ready for his ‘first time on the front line’ soon after the noon bell released the boy from his lessons. Eric and his mother, the father and grandmother of the sick child, made it through the queue at Gaius’ door while Merlin was carefully packing the delicate glass bottles of willow bark infusion between small canvas pouches of the dry oat mix in one saddle bag while Francis packed the other.

“Oh, hello,” Merlin greeted them from where he worked at the bench. “Gaius, these are the people I met on the road.”

“Ah, yes, my apprentice is just packing up the medicine for the children in Robert’s Rest,” Gaius said. “Chicken pox is more of a fright than anything once it’s treated properly.”

“I told you, didn’t I, Eric?” the pushy old grandmother crowed. “My daughter-in-law has no sense for these things, though she does try. It’s a simple thing then?”

“I’m sure she did what she thought was best,” Gaius soothed. Merlin smirked, remembering the offense Gaius had taken over the ridiculous chalk dust bath and cruel lack of water. “It’s not so much a simple thing, as it is a sickness Merlin has already lived through himself and has studied carefully. Your granddaughter will be in good hands. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, or will you be headed back home?”

“Is this good enough, Merlin?” Francis asked, jumping off the bench and holding out the carefully packed bag.

“Looks as good as mine,” Merlin answered. He missed whatever the grandmother was quietly talking to Gaius about. A glance in that direction had him sure that if he didn’t get going he’d be here another hour. “Carry it down with me? You can help me get the horse saddled up without smashing these.”

“Yes, Merlin,” Francis nodded, slinging the bag gently over his shoulder. Francis stood tall and proud, his curiosity about all the complicated things Gaius and Merlin did with ‘herbs and rocks’ to make useless stuff into something valuable made him willing to help with these sorts of chores, and when his rather poor reaction to the sight of blood came to light his father all but insisted Merlin make him spend time in the infirmary to break him of the weakness as quickly as possible. Even if that wasn’t the case, Jimmy couldn’t be trusted not to put his fingers in things, so when Merlin needed a hand cleaning a mess in the infirmary or hauling bundles of sick-soiled laundry it was always Francis he called. In a way, the boys had split so that Francis shadowed Merlin and Jimmy shadowed Arthur, though their military education and prep for becoming squires was still their first priority. At eleven, Francis really did have to get over his unfortunate fear of blood soon.

“Is this another apprentice? Such a cute young boy,” the old woman smiled as Francis marched to the door as if leading a grand procession.

“Oh, no ma’am,” Francis corrected loudly, puffing up proudly in the open doorway. “I’m going to be a knight. I just help Merlin out ‘cause he’s got so many jobs to do, and Father says I’ll learn good things watching him. Anybody who would drink poison for their lord like he did is as brave and loyal as any good Knight.” Merlin blushed and ducked his head. Everyone lined up on the stair would have heard that.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Gaius cut off whatever the grandmother was about to respond with, which was good since Merlin couldn’t figure out how to make his mouth work. “Now, off with you both. That medicine isn’t doing any good in a saddle bag.”

The mare seemed pleased to go out again, and the two of them got her saddled up with a minimum of playing around. He pinned the necessary seals to the saddle as he’d done before, Francis fiddling with the placement to make them more visible from the front. Merlin led the horse a few paces away from the stable and looked around, wondering if Arthur had gotten a volunteer to escort him. He didn’t want to delay riding out and didn’t think he needed a guard, but if someone had been kind enough to volunteer he really didn’t want to slip past the man and leave him standing there all afternoon.

“Merlin,” Sir Leon called to him from beside his own saddled horse. “I hear you need an escort down the road.”

“Sir Leon,” Merlin hailed, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d want to come with me.”

“I’ve had chicken pox, and I’ve seen my young cousins with them. It’s no horror for me,” the redhead assured.

“So long as you don’t mind sharing a wash basin with me when we get back. Gaius is very worried about it spreading to the city,” Merlin said as they mounted up.

“Oh, I’m sure it will all work out fine,” Sir Leon assured.

It wasn’t a long trip, but it was long enough that silence would have been uncomfortable. Merlin spoke of the letter he’d gotten from his mother that week, congratulating him on his position and saying that the harvests looked to be good this year. He chatted a little about what autumn was like back in the village. Leon answered in kind. The Knight’s family owned an orchard far enough from the city that there were weeks-long stretches where he didn’t get to see them, though his patrols often went out that way so he could stop in for a quick hello. His daughter came to live with him in the city during spring and autumn, so she wasn’t underfoot during the busiest times, and his Mother ran the estate with his wife’s help. Sir Leon’s father had gone a little soft in the head in his old age, though in a charming sort of way, and was under the impression that he was still running the place despite spending most of his time in a rocking chair with a sauce pot on his head.

“I heard your father was a Knight Errant?” Leon questioned as they trotted along the side road to Robert’s Rest.

“Oh, well, I’d say he was more like a traveler who knew how to use a sword than a Knight Errant,” Merlin demurred. “He was handy with a whittling knife and would make decorative boxes and things like that to sell in bigger towns, as well as taking dried herbs and some standard herbal preparations Mum made. It’s just that Cenred doesn’t send out patrols to control criminals, and there weren’t many men who could use a sword around. He kept our village safe, well, safer.”

“Will he be coming to visit you when the harvest is done?” Leon asked.

“He’s gone,” Merlin sighed sadly. “Left for a trip and vanished on the road nearly three years ago, now. We really miss him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Do you have any plans to visit your remaining family?” Leon asked. Merlin just blinked at him a moment. “I bring it up because there has been some talk about your family since that business with the false physician. After it came out that you are a freedman, some of the older Lords remembered a maiden in the late Queen’s household who was once Gaius’ student. Freedmen well loved by the late Queen Ygraine, with their son come back to serve hers, would be well welcomed. Not to mention, you’ve made a name for yourself as a loyal and good hearted young man. If you want for means of protection on the road for yourself or for your mother even for just a visit there are several who would be willing to help. We could take an hour or so out of our usual patrols to meet up at the border and escort one or the other of you, if your trips could be conveniently timed to the schedule.”

“I’ll tell my mother so in my next letter, but that won’t be for another couple months. There is no regular trade on that road, so I can’t do it more than twice a year. She’ll send her letters back with the same person if she can, though the man went all the way to Mercia and back before he took it from her this time so she wasn’t rushed writing it. I hope we can use him again, but he wasn’t sure the route he took was profitable enough. I don’t expect to make the trip myself for a long while, anyway. With the poison still in my system I shouldn’t travel far until the spring. Even if it wasn’t, given all the work I need to do, leaving for any length of time would be very difficult for me right now,” Merlin explained.

“I thought there were a lot of travelers through your village, and that is how you learned languages?” Leon asked. The rumor mill was certainly buzzing with things Merlin wished hadn’t gotten out.

“There are a fair number going around Camelot, and none of them will set a toe across its border,” Merlin shrugged.

“Sorcerers and their ilk are that common?” the knight boggled.

“No, but there were enough incidents where the convicted was believed innocent by their families and friends that there is a…,” Merlin hesitated. Sir Leon was listening intently and had never given Merlin the impression that he would dismiss what Merlin said as ignorant peasant blathering. He seemed a good man, but Merlin wasn’t sure how the serious knight would take the blunt truth and softened his words a little. “…a certain caution on the road. If they don’t have business in Camelot while traveling north or south, then some people prefer to just avoid the trouble. Some people are afraid to come here because of a malformed finger or other oddity that might be considered a mark of sorcery, no matter how ridiculous that is. Most children are savvy enough to know a lazy eye or lisp is just an unfortunate thing someone was born with, and it seems like the hysteria of the early days is well and gone, but there are a lot of people who just don’t trust that Camelot is safe to travel through without good reason.”

“You have said this to Prince Arthur,” Sir Leon stated.

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed. “He didn’t believe me the first time around. After King Bayard came and the poison and all that he started asking me more specific questions; he demanded full and proper explanations for how I knew certain things and why I think the way I do. In the beginning it was just because I come off as an idiot much of the time, but Gaius wouldn’t have taken me on if I was that dull-witted and, in any case, I was too observant to be mentally deficient. He thought it was an act and that I was deliberately hiding things.”

“You do have a disarming manner about you,” Leon chuckled. “Sharp as a whip-crack of a moment, then bumbling around getting lost and tripping over your own feet. Or else doing utterly inappropriate things according to court etiquette simply because they are the kind thing to do. I’ll never forget the look on Lady Matilda’s face when you, in clothes covered in dust and a basket of uprooted herbs on your arm, offered to help her down the castle stair.”

“She’s pregnant enough it’s probably twins and their servants were too busy carrying her drunk husband,” Merlin said.

“I said it was kind, but it wasn’t proper form for someone of your station, or of the station you appeared to be,” Leon allowed. “Had you looked as you do now she wouldn’t be able to cut them up about the mud-covered farmer who had a more refined sense of how a lady in her condition should be treated than her own servants quite so efficiently.”

“If something is the right thing to do, it should be done,” Merlin shrugged.

“A simple view of the world.”

“When something is simple, then there isn’t any harm in keeping it that way. It’s when things are already complicated and messy that you have to spend time thinking about things before acting,” Merlin gambled on explaining himself. “Like the travelers on the road through my village. That’s complicated. Mum and I can’t just ask any one of them to take a detour to deliver a letter, even if they would take our money if we asked. If they are scared to be here they will act suspiciously and call attention to themselves even if there is no reason for it. If a misunderstanding happened because of that and they were detained for questioning or arrested for doing something minor out of fear of armed men wearing Camelot’s colors it would be our fault.”

“Do you prefer it this way?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you prefer that most of the citadel thinks you are less intelligent than you are?”

“I, I don’t know,” Merlin stuttered a little, worried about the question. “On one hand, my life is a lot less stressful when people aren’t paying me much attention. On the other, being thanked when I do things is nice. I think some people see me like, uh, the bard that performs where the market meets High Street. He can do amazing things with any instrument - sometimes more than one of them at once - but he doesn’t understand money and his niece cares for him like he’s still a small child.” Leon nodded in understanding, the simple-minded bard was a fixture in the city. “As far as I can tell most of the nobles think I can repeat anything I’ve read, but don’t properly understand any of it. Even Sir Geoffrey: he seems to think I read so fast because I’m not taking time to consider the deeper meaning of the words, but really it’s just that I’ve read so much I got good at it. Not that I always understand books the first time I read them. Sometimes a book is so far beyond me the only way I can read it is by rushing through it quickly to get a general idea, then use that to grasp something easier before going back to it. It’s how my father taught me to study advanced material, but Gaius says I need to re-learn how to study properly since I have a whole library available all at once instead of just a small collection of books obtained over time.”

“I’d never considered study as a skill that could be taught or tuned to one’s resources. I thought it was something a man either could or could not do well,” Sir Leon mused. “Prince Arthur knows the truth about you?”

“I tell him everything.” Merlin sighed, thinking of the way he’d vomited out so many secrets to the prince. Gaius was a bit worried, but Merlin had followed what felt right. He wanted to trust his friends, and they all clearly saw that having magic on its own wasn’t enough to make someone evil. Even with Arthur wanting to watch Merlin for signs of corruption, that seemed like more of a way to prove King Uther’s words true or false than a real worry that Merlin would turn on his Prince.

“I thought you would have; your loyalty is beyond question. He has been different of late. In a good way, generally,” Sir Leon assured. “There are many who would not think a commoner could have much sharpness of mind, on the theory that each of us is born to our station with skill dictated by our blood. I know better.”

“You don’t believe men are born with traits from their bloodlines?” Merlin asked.

“Don’t pretend to be dull witted now that I know you are not,” Sir Leon chuckled. “Or is this some odd sort of humor? I simply have seen enough of the world to doubt any man who shouts too loudly about how pure his blood is. Classes do mix, no matter how little some men wish to admit it. God ensured the noble bloodlines had the inborn skills they needed to protect those under them, but those gifts get spread around. Noble houses fall and rise again, sometimes after a generation or two has passed, and then there is a litter of cousins spread out to better a village or three. The histories are littered with such tales, and the scandals of bastard children.”

“Are you suggesting something about my mother I should get angry about?” Merlin asked suspiciously.

“I’m speaking in generalities,” Leon dismissed. “Simple practicality: not all commoners are simple of mind and not all nobles have great intelligence.”

“That’s good because I’d really have to punch anyone who suggested something like that, and I can’t exactly get arrested for assaulting a knight before I’ve delivered this medicine,” Merlin quipped. Leon laughed openly.

“There is more spitfire in you than in half the green men I’m training for the garrison combined,” the knight proclaimed. “That such a spirit can be paradoxically wrapped in a kind heart and gentle eyes makes it little wonder so few can fathom the truth of you!”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Harold was at the tavern when Merlin and Sir Leon rode into town. Merlin made it clear this was a disease that needed to be treated for a week, not cured in a day. Harold told them three more young boys had come down with the pox, as had a girl Merlin’s own age. From there things proceeded from moment to moment with an inevitable sort of precision. Merlin demonstrated how to use the dry mix of ground oats and herbs in a bath to sooth the itchy pox on a girl of four for the collected mothers, blushing a bit when the sick girl his own age shyly asked if he ought to bathe all of them himself the first time. He carefully measured doses of the willow bark infusion for each patient and wrapped the hands of children who could not be trusted to stop scratching. Sir Leon held the purse and collected the fees for Merlin’s services. That first sick girl, the worst case, looked better from being regularly bathed and given sufficient water, but that was an illusion.

Merlin snuck the small string of beads her grandmother had given him under her pillow while her mother was distracted by Leon’s condolences. He didn’t dare use magic, he had no idea what these people thought of such things, and he couldn’t accept the bit of jewelry as payment with the child like this. She was still covered in shallow infected scratches and vomited up the medicine he tried to give her for the fever. He’d only given a half-dose, fearful of making her wounds bleed, but it seemed her body wouldn’t take it. Her complexion was going a bit gray, and she wasn’t keeping anything but clear water down. Her pox had all scabbed over, signaling that the sickness had nearly run its course.

Merlin was sure that nearly wasn’t going to be enough.

It was nearly dark when Merlin and Leon returned to the tavern to take warm baths. The knight guarded Merlin well as they sat near the fire and waited for their evening meal, setting his hand on his sword hilt when two of the fathers angrily accused him of dragging out the illness so he could charge more. That was all it took, and they listened as Merlin explained that the illness was well known and both he and Sir Leon had lived through it as small children. Merlin saw the barkeep come in with a huge tray from the kitchen door and popped up to take his plate instead of waiting to be served out of habit. The position had him snugly fit between Harold and one of the other respected men in the village, though this one was not one of the fathers of the sick.

“They are keeping you on a short leash,” Mike greeted him quietly as he started to make up plates from the large savory pies and slices of fruit. “Though you look more like a physician than an errant stable boy in those fancy clothes.”

“Oh, Sir Leon isn’t here to guard me that way,” Merlin corrected with a shrug. “Prince Arthur worried I’d lose the medicine or worse if I was out on the roads while in my good clothes. There are always bandits on the roads this time of year, looking to take some of the harvest for themselves. I honestly don’t like going beyond the city walls while looking like I have money.”

“Come now lad, you’re young but with the work you do you must have some brains. You haven’t gotten a copper in your own hand for the work you’ve done,” Harold murmured as Mike handed Merlin a plate with half a pie and a generous pile of fruit on it. “When this plate is empty you come back up here. Somebody needs to feed you properly.”

“Thank you, but Prince Arthur really isn’t like that. I’ll have my share after the cost of the herbs that made the medicine comes out, and it’s better I didn’t go from treating the sick to handling coin and back throughout the day. Less to scrub clean,” Merlin assured. He hurried back to his seat, sitting down just as a young woman served Sir Leon’s plate with a mug of ale. They hadn’t had sheep in Ealdor and mutton was still something he found exotic, so he dug into the crust of mashed potatoes excitedly. The Shepard’s Pie was wonderful. He’d only had it once before, and this one was much better than the greasy, overcooked one he’d bought from the market for Gaius’ birthday.

“Here I was told I might have to make you eat,” Sir Leon chuckled.

“What?” Merlin asked after carefully swallowing, mindful of his manners.

“Some are under the impression the poison affected your appetite permanently,” Sir Leon offered.

“Palace gossip is good for getting the general idea of what happened, but it’s terrible for details,” Merlin sighed. The story about how his relationships with Alice, Gwen, and Edwin were intertwined had mutated into something farcical, and he felt badly that Alice had borne quite a bit of grief over having abandoned him ‘in his hour of need’ just because he’d sought out someone he knew would never touch him for companionship after Edwin’s death. Every broad stroke was too true to argue about, but put all together the picture it painted was all wrong. “Particularly so long after people have had the chance to get creative with their explanations.” Leon’s rueful expression showed he wasn’t telling the man anything he didn’t already know.

“So, that has passed fully?” the knight asked.

“No, but it’s much, much better.”

“Perhaps you ought to make that clear to the Prince,” Leon chided. “When he asked for a volunteer guard for you, he made it clear that strain could cause you to be ill again, and any man who took up the task would be guarding you from yourself as much as from bandits.”

“I got a bit sick earlier this week when we went hunting. Well, I guess that’s not fair to say. I slept almost without waking for a day and a half,” Merlin shrugged. He knew Arthur had used Merlin’s sudden illness as an excuse for how long he was away from the castle, though he was unsure how much had been said or how far the rumors had twisted it.

“You say that as if it’s nothing,” Sir Leon scoffed, eyes wide.

“It was a purge, of sorts. Badly timed, I’ll admit, and I think it startled him to see that sort of thing where there wasn’t help at hand, but after I woke I felt better than I have in months. Gaius said it had to do with the enchantment on the poison.” Merlin shrugged again and had another bite of the pie.

“Randomly passing out for more than a day doesn’t concern you,” the knight said slowly, his body tilted back in disbelief.

“It doesn’t happen randomly, as I think you understand,” Merlin defended, focusing more on his food. He’d forgotten to ask for a drink and was starting to regret it, the thick mashed potatoes sticking a bit on the way down.

“I see,” Leon said gently. “I suppose the hunting trip wasn’t random either, though why he would take you out of the city instead of to Gaius after the druid got to you I don’t understand.” Merlin thought for a moment before he answered.

“Sir Leon, sometimes even the best men have to turn and run in the hopes of fighting again another day, because every path forward leads to certain defeat.” Merlin brought his empty pate back up to the bar while the knight thought that over. He returned with a wide slice of apple pie and a cup of milk, the teasing over his strong refusal of the large mug of ale he’d been offered not bothering him in the slightest.


	15. Sir Leon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Leon makes a guess about Merlin, and offers to help the jumpy warlock get over his 'irrational' fears. Yes, I have a slight pro-Leon bias, but he's also the only Knight of the Round Table currently available to play with.

Merlin rode out to Roberts Rest every other day for two weeks. Leon usually escorted him. On the three occasions he couldn’t be spared Merlin had been escorted by Sir Bedivere or Sir Ector, two men who were past the unofficial age of retirement for knights but who had not stepped down. Sir Bedivere had limited use of his left hand, which he tended to hide by strapping a shield to his arm. Prince Arthur had been Sir Ector’s squire and he taught the prince how to use a sword. Both men had many entertaining stories to tell about the last couple generations of knights. They also praised Merlin’s skill with medicine highly and lamented that there were no more healer-knights to tend battle wounds while on the march. The older men hinted strongly that Arthur’s tendency to take Merlin along with him at all times was something to be encouraged, and that Merlin should focus on improving his health and martial skill so he could fill that empty slot while he was still young enough for it.

Arthur was distant, and clearly annoyed at him. On the days Merlin served him he was back to exercising the dogs, mucking out the stables, and generally kept too busy to think. He tried to match the pace Arthur set for him, but failed hard. He couldn’t bring things back to his room at night because he wouldn’t be available to bring them back the next day, and with Jimmy and Francis popping up all the time he didn’t dare use magic to speed along his chores during the day. Everything was either half-done or half-delegated to one of the pages and he just couldn’t match the high standard he’d unintentionally set for himself during those first few weeks as Arthur’s servant.

He really was feeling better even if it didn’t seem to be showing up in his work much. He no longer felt like he needed a nap all the time and was only a bit sore or dizzy on occasion. It was still a bit embarrassing when Sir Ector had to catch Merlin before he swooned on castle stairs coming home one particularly hot day, or when he suddenly winced in pain due to a painful cramp in public. He did heed the advice Dylan gave him and started intentionally exercising his magic in the evenings to make up for the lack of using it during the day. He heated his own bathwater with magic, washed and dried his own clothes with spells, cleaned and reinforced his boots, completely rearranged his room, mended some of the furniture, and did small chores for Gaius. Gaius protested at first, but when Merlin explained that he’d been holding it in so much that he hurt himself the older man compromised with him. Merlin could use magic for “trivial things” only after sunset and only in his own room with the door closed or elsewhere in the infirmary after the last bell when Gaius locked the door. There wasn’t a lot of household style magic in the book Gaius gave him, but with the door locked and the lights dimmed the old physician taught Merlin some of the words that went along with the little things the younger man usually just silently willed into happening. Knowing them did help with Merlin’s control of the cleaning spells. The perpetually messy tower had never been so clean, the unavoidable dirt and detritus that came from grinding herbs and mixing potions in the same space they lived in swept away within half an hour every night while they ate their dinner and talked by the fire.

After two weeks most of the children in Roberts Rest were well enough not to need willow bark and the first child that fell ill had been buried in a little glade under a small wooden cross. The few adults that caught it were also on the mend and their families were perfectly capable of taking care of them the rest of the way. If they ran low of the oatmeal-sage bath mix or if the sickness suddenly spread again they could send someone to Camelot. All in all, it was a success worth being proud of and Merlin returned to his normal duties in good spirits. He showed up (and was even on time) with the Prince’s breakfast for the second day in a row for the first time in what felt like ages, cheerfully opening the curtains after his usual routine of readying the front room and setting the table for breakfast.

“Rise and Shine!” Merlin chirped.

“Oh, are you my servant again?” the Prince Arthur asked as he scraped himself off his pillows with a scowl.

“I’ve been your servant all along,” Merlin said, preoccupied with gathering the laundry into a basket.

“Funny you seem to be gone more often than you are here. One would think that…” Merlin turned to look at Arthur when the prince trailed off. He was looking a piece of very wrinkled paper that had been mixed into the bedsheets.

“What’s that?” Merlin asked.

“Nothing,” Arthur said, shoving the paper into his night stand and locking the drawer hastily. “Will Gaius need you again?”

“No. At least he shouldn’t,” Merlin said with a shrug. It was none of his business if Arthur kept some racy drawing or letter near his bed, and he kept himself busy with things that didn’t involve looking toward the bed for a moment because there were some things Merlin simply didn’t need to know about the prince. “Like I said yesterday, it’s back to our regular schedules, and just in time to prepare for the autumn procession. One long march in a circle around Camelot.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you weren’t looking forward to it.”

“Have you seen the list of things I’m expected to do to prepare, not to mention all the work that needs done while we’re pointlessly marching through the rain?” Merlin asked.

“I am ensuring all the watch posts and forts are ready for winter. It is an important inspection and essential for the security of the realm.” Arthur’s short speech would have been impressive if it wasn’t broken in the middle with a jaw-cracking yawn. At least Merlin knew that the Prince’s list of things to do was no shorter than his own for once.

“Well don’t you sound so enthusiastic and eager to begin.” Merlin’s sarcastic quip earned him a hard stare as Arthur dropped into his chair for breakfast.  Merlin busied himself putting the bed to rights and laid out clothes for the day as Arthur ate.

“Is there anything you wanted me to do in particular, or should I just get on with the usual things today and have the steward direct me for the preparations as needed?” Merlin asked. He was finally getting the hang of how the castle functioned. Arthur didn’t need to tell him what to do every minute of the day, though he could if he wanted to be that bossy, because that was actually the steward’s job.

“Get a sword light enough you won’t drop it after five minutes picked out for yourself in the armory, you’ll be marching armed just like the squires. You’ll need to get it sharpened before the end of the week,” Arthur said between bites of egg.

“I don’t have to wear that dodgy armor, do I?” Merlin asked unhappily. “Its joints are sharper than most of the training swords.”

“No, not the training armor, but you’ll have to wear our colors.”

“Just the colors with my own jacket on?” Merlin hoped.

“Yes, fine, wear your own jacket,” Arthur answered. After a moment the prince scrunched up his nose in thought. “Although, you should have a coat with the Pendragon crest. Weren’t you issued one with the rest of the livery?”

“No,” Merlin reluctantly answered, “just a kit fit enough to serve formal meals in the dining hall - the lace-bordered one that came with that blasted hat and frilly cape. No coat or anything for marching through cold weather. I usually just wore more layers under the tunic when the evening was chilly, but it’s been summer so it hasn’t been much of an issue. There isn’t anything wrong with my jacket, is there?”

“Not this time, we’re just going to the forts and outposts, but you should still have something other than that ornamental cape as outerwear for visits with the lords,” Arthur argued. He came over to the screen to get dressed and Merlin started to stack up the dishes, popping the remaining bits of fruit and cheese into his mouth as he went. “There are always a few visits from those vassals with manor homes nearby the citadel over the winter holidays as well, once the taxes have been counted and there isn’t quite as much work for them to do. How many and how frequently will depend on the weather and size of the harvest as much as anything. Sometimes they start coming just before spring has properly arrived, when the rain is still half way to ice.”

“Isn’t leather better than cloth if I’m to be out in the rain? I’d have the livery on under it, and if I am out in it because of guests coming here it would just be to help haul their luggage in for a few minutes before I have to attend you again.”

“Merlin, are you trying to talk your way out of getting a new coat?” Arthur asked incredulously, coming out from behind the screen so Merlin could help him with the complex fastenings of his formal clothes. The council meeting this morning would include a few of the tax collectors for part of it, so Merlin had to make sure Arthur was properly impressive.

“I happen to like my jacket, and it’s nearly new.”

“This is new?” Arthur questioned, poking at the cheap-but-durable leather covering Merlin’s arm. Well, if Arthur was bored and wanted a distraction Merlin didn’t have any problem providing one.

“Yes, all my clothes are fairly new. New to me, anyway. I grew more than a foot last summer. None of this would have fit me before then, but I’m still too small to fit into my Father’s old things well. Mum gave me most of what I have right now for Yule, so they aren’t even a year old.” Merlin shrugged and finished with the buckles. “After Gaius said he’d take me on in the spring, she wanted to make sure I looked smart when I went into the city, so instead of just tailoring what I had she used some of our savings to buy some newer cloth and such from the merchant that follows the tax man around. She made my nicer tunic from that, bought my brown trousers outright, and finished the jacket from a half-sewn shell of cow hide that probably used to be something else. I thought she spent too much, but she insisted it would be silly taking in the bigger clothes that much when there’s a good chance I’m not done growing.”

“You really are fifteen, aren’t you? Not that I expect Gaius to lie to my Father, but there was something about a different calendar. I thought he’d shaved a year or two off you with semantics to help with the circumstances.”

“I was born the beginning of January, so I have survived fifteen full winters. The first one doesn’t count because it was only part. If I’d been born before the solstice in December I’d say I am sixteen winters, so I’m actually on the older side of the commoner’s counting system since I only missed the cut off by a couple weeks,” Merlin explained, straightening up so he could flip Arthur’s cape onto his shoulders and fasten its golden pins properly. “I’m just tall.”

“And you’ll likely be even taller in a year or two,” Arthur said, very clearly considering the single inch of height he had over Merlin when the boy stood up straight. “At least that explains how you can be such an idiot sometimes. Most of the squires are older than you.”

“Well, a squire is just an apprentice knight, right? And, the royal blacksmith just took on an apprentice my age last month. So, I’m exactly as old as I should be for why I came to Camelot,” Merlin eagerly contradicted. The haughty smile faded off Arthur’s face a bit and he stepped away to check the lay of the golden pins in the mirror.

“I suppose so,” the prince said, his words picking up speed a little as he walked to the door. “You will still need a winter kit for formal occasions. Remind the Steward you weren’t issued one and… tell him I’m fine with you using your own jacket unless there is a suitable leather option on hand. No point in giving someone as clumsy as you a coat you’ll just tear to shreds on every thorn and hook in the land.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin ducked into the armory while Arthur was training with the knights that afternoon. He’d worn his jacket for the chill of the morning, but it was too warm to keep it on after he’d been running up and down the field in the sun helping the squires set things up. He tossed it onto the table while he looked at the rack of swords available to him. He picked up a shorter blade that matched what some of the youngest squires had. It hadn’t occurred to him he was the same age as the younger squires until Arthur mentioned it. He didn’t really think too much about that sort of thing, except to be glad his height meant people assumed he was closer to eighteen. He was old enough to be considered a man by village standards and would probably be seriously hunting for a bride if he was a normal farm boy. The beginner squire blades were too small for someone his size, or so he’d been told repeatedly on the days he was being used as a human training dummy and ‘accurately outfitted’ as a pretend bandit, never mind that most bandits had axes or short blades instead of expensive full-sized swords. He swung the short sword a couple times experimentally, and unlike the longer swords and other weapons that had been forced into his hand this one didn’t feel like it would fly out of his fingers if he took a swing with his full strength or pull him off balance if it got some momentum going.

“Picking something out for Francis?” a deep voice said suddenly from the doorway, and Merlin jumped. A knight Merlin didn’t know well had just walked in with Sir Leon looking like a pair of cardinals in the bright gambesons they wore under their chain mail. Their squires trailed behind them, loaded down with the missing layer of armaments. Merlin was fairly sure the other knight’s name was Kay, and he had very dark brown hair on an average frame. Well, average for a knight, so still very broad in the shoulder.

“Picking out one suitable for an untested fifteen-year-old, so close enough,” Merlin said with a respectful nod.

“Well, let’s see what you have,” Sir Kay insisted. Merlin handed over the blade and the man had a look at it. “Not bad. Looks like it was damaged a bit at some point, but it was repaired well enough. It’s still serviceable.” The knight pointed to a part of the blade where there was a discolored ripple Merlin had assumed was left over from someone not polishing it properly. “Is Arthur taking on a squire already? Francis will be terribly disappointed, he thought the Prince would wait a few years so he’d have a chance at the position.”

“No, Sir, just preparing for the Autumn Procession,” Merlin said, stepping back to give the knight some space as he pulled out a couple other swords and measured them against the one Merlin picked.

“He is having a sword assigned to you?” Sir Leon asked. The two squires looked up at Merlin sharply from the table where they laid out the knight’s gear to clean. Neither one was much taller than his shoulder, though they probably weighed more than him with how much muscle they carried. Sir Kay was shorter than Merlin too, though only by a hair.

“I guess so? He wants me to carry one on the procession, at least.”

“He’s having you carry a squire’s blade? You should have a properly sized sword if you have one at all,” Sir Kay argued.

“Well, Sir, he thinks it’s better to give me a short one.” Merlin rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed but holding to Arthur’s orders.

“Because you have been unwell?” Sir Leon guessed. “The weight would be easier on you when we are on the march, but even so I don’t know if it would be better for you if you actually have to use it.”

“Partially. It’s more because of what he’s seen when I’m playing a target for him, I think. As I said, the Prince wants me to pick one out based on my age.”

“If you’re a day short of seventeen I’ll eat my…” Sir Kay began to say.

“You don’t want to finish that oath, Kay,” Leon interrupted, “or I’ll have to send the kitchen a strange order on your behalf. Merlin isn’t what he looks like, on several counts.” The red-headed knight pulled out a sword from the far end of the knight’s rack, kicking up a little dust as he did. “This one is longer than the squire swords, but thinner than most would prefer and there is something off about the iron. It’s lighter than it should be, and it doesn’t take an edge properly without a lot of work, but it might serve until you can handle something heavier.”

Merlin took the sword from Sir Leon. It fit his hand well, at least he thought so. Not that he knew much about swords in the first place. The weight of the metal was definitely off, he could see a bit of shine on it he wasn’t sure should be there, and it looked like there used to be something etched near the hilt that was nearly scraped off. Merlin frowned at it and focused properly on what remained of the faint runes. He could feel them, and his magic crept out into his hand which wasn’t necessarily a good thing with four other people in the room. Merlin put the sword back on the rack swiftly and clamped down on his magic before he accidentally did something.

“You alright lad?” Sir Kay asked, a bit of concern in his voice.

“I was trying to read what it says, but the etching’s been scraped almost smooth. I think I’ll take the one that’s been repaired for now, but thank you for the suggestion. I’m unlikely to need it for much, and I’d rather do as the Prince asked me to and get one of the short blades. If I get comfortable with it, then maybe I’ll get a full-size sword later.”

“If you train with a short blade you’ll never learn to use one that fits your frame,” Sir Kay argued, “and if you train with a proper blade and carry a short one, you’ll misunderstand your reach when it counts. If you are this tall at fifteen, you’ll want a longer sword or none at all.”

“Honestly, I expect I’ll end up trading down for a hunting knife so I can carry a bigger medical bag in the end,” Merlin said politely. “I’m not much interested in becoming a soldier, and I already have two jobs.”

“You still need to be able to hold your own against any stray enemies that make it to the rear so you are alive and well to administer medical aid when the dust settles,” Sir Leon said, though he sounded distracted. Merlin turned to face the other man and found him peering at the inside of Merlin’s jacket. “This is… a gambeson?”

“Um… well,” Merlin sputtered, “I did tell you about my Father, Sir Leon, and Mother worried about me traveling on the road alone to get here.”

“A gambeson pretending to be a tatty jacket?” Sir Leon’s squire asked, leaning over to have a look while he polished a shoulder plate.

“Well, it was ruined years ago. Mum stitched it up as the lining of the jacket when Gaius sent for me as a potential apprentice, as a surprise at Yule. Cloth is cloth after all, and it’s not like we could afford to waste.” Leon chuckled a bit at Merlin’s explanation.

“Just scrap cloth, put to good use, and nothing more important than that. Yes, you would say that. I suppose the ruined part would have been a sleeve or some part that hung down lower, since the torso is all intact?” The knight gently examined how the padded armor was attached to the leather loosely with soft cloth. That let the over-sized leather shell hang off him as it would instead of becoming overly stiff by forcing it to conform to the properly tailored vest’s tighter fit. It also made it look a bit like a sack as it draped over him, but Mother wasn’t as good with stitching leather into shape as she was with linen.

“Let me see that,” Sir Kay insisted, stepping over as Leon laid out Merlin’s jacket to expose as much of the interior as possible.

“It used to be long, almost to the ground I think,” Merlin said as he stretched his memory, his eyes settling on the floor in front of him. “It was damaged when I was very small. One of the times we were raided.”

“This is better than what the conscripts get,” Sir Kay said, wide eyed and blinking. “Sturdy as anything short of metal can be. Hold on. Escetir isn’t brown, it’s mustard. Who is brown? Was it…” The knight trailed off to muttering about the colors of kings and lords.

“It was dyed. He didn’t normally wear it around the farm, just when he left the village with his trade cart, and anything eye-catching wouldn’t be a good idea on the road,” Merlin said, which was true, but then he tacked on a lie. “I don’t really remember what color it was originally.” When new it had been the same bright red as what the knights in front of him were wearing. When faded, after a decade or two, their cloaks and gambesons would surely match the scrap of cloth currently tied at Merlin’s neck.

“Not any of the five kingdoms, but one of the minor lords, but then they couldn’t afford to outfit conscripts with…” Sir Kay was still muttering.

“Kay, some respect for the dead,” Sir Leon said quietly. Merlin looked up to see the red-haired knight holding the jacket out to him. He put it on immediately even though his face still felt a bit warm. The two squires snapped back to their tasks. Sir Kay’s eyes darted around the room, obviously well scolded by the suggestion he was being insensitive about a delicate topic. “Your mother is quite clever with a sewing needle to make something like that.”

“Thank you, Sir Leon. I’m fairly sure the rest of it was sewn into my Father’s leather coat, but just on the back. The full vest as a jacket liner would be a bit too bulky to be practical if I wasn’t so skinny.”

“Well, it’s still a brave thing for a servant to follow the Prince out on patrols and hunting trips, but perhaps you aren’t as reckless in your devotion to duty as you seem. Seeing as how you’ve been at least partially armored this whole time, that is.” Sir Leon gave Merlin an assessing look as he spoke.

“I’d better get this over to the blacksmith like Prince Arthur told me to,” Merlin said, picking up the sword he’d first picked up. “He’ll need me back soon.” With a short bow to acknowledge their dismissal Merlin hurried to the royal blacksmith’s forge. The man was less personable than Tom, but he also had a lot more work to do and the King was a much more demanding customer than the people who sought out Tom’s skills. At least Merlin knew it wouldn’t take long, as there was never much chatter at the royal forge.

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin knew that he ought to be studying if he had spare time. Gaius had started explaining how certain medicines became more powerful in higher doses in ways that had nothing to do with regular sums. Instead of two spoons being twice as strong as one, it might be four times as strong. There was math that helped with all that so he didn’t have to memorize quite as much, but it was the most complicated math Merlin had ever seen. Counting when the numbers jumped along as one, two, four, eight, sixteen… it was beyond tricky and explaining why some medicines worked that way brushed up against the basics of alchemy. A few of the more complicated rune-based rituals used these advanced math tricks too, though the spell book had it all written out the long way instead of using the supposedly simpler methods Gaius was trying to show him. The old man had pointed that out to him so he could see the tedious method at work, and to encourage him to learn the faster, properly scientific way that was just as accurate. There wasn’t much personal time in his schedule, and the few hours he did get ‘for himself’ were often taken up by being dragged off hunting with Arthur or working on something he didn’t quite get finished on time. Today, he really ought to be practicing his numbers, even if Gaius had told him he’d earned some leisure time and should go enjoy himself. Merlin was also tempted to do as he was told when the man mentioned that it was likely the girls in the lower town would be out and about in the square enjoying the fine Sunday air.

Except, in a little more than a week he’d be leaving the city to follow Arthur for the fall procession, and when he did he would carry a short sword. Not a dull training blade, hunting knife, or carved wooden stick, but his very own properly sharpened sword straight from the armory. Merlin had, up to now, dropped to the ground or scurried behind a tree if bandits attacked while they were out and used little spells to trip up or knock out the attackers so that Arthur could take them down more easily. With a sword assigned to him, he’d be expected to take a more active role in any attacks. He could always stick to his usual method of hiding while casting spells from cover, and if he acted a coward they wouldn’t give him a sword again. He probably should do that. Gaius was in favor of the idea, though he preferred that Merlin hide and _not_ cast spells. He probably would do that, except…

Merlin hugged his jacket to himself despite the warm weather and looked over the miniature training yard he’d set up. It was just far enough into the wood that the guards on the wall couldn’t see past the trees on the bank of a creek. He’d used a combination of magic and his whittling knife to quickly produce a full size wooden practice sword, a dummy made of reeds from the stream tied to a stick with vines and rags, and a reasonably sized circle clear of underbrush. It was very similar to the setup he’d used when he went into the woods back home. He had never had the time to train with a sword intensely the way the squires did. It was a sporadic thing, usually a way to burn off a fit of temper or fear in the wake of some slight against their family or attack on the village. Father was strict about those lessons during them, but his other lessons had always seemed to take up so much time. If something needed to be skipped in a given week, it just made sense that until Merlin was fourteen - the traditional age for becoming a squire - regular training with a sword could wait. Then his father had left when he was only twelve, and Mother didn’t know anything about how to use a sword. Merlin had still used the toy sword he’d been given to practice with from time to time, but there was only so much he could learn by himself like that and the other men in the village either couldn’t help or refused to have anything to do with him.

Merlin squared up with the bundle of reeds and slowly went through a few simple motions to warm up and check the balance of his wooden sword. He didn’t really need a sword to win a fight. His magic was strong enough he could rely on it without anything else, but Father fought with both steel and spell - even swapped hands to confuse more skilled opponents at times. There wasn’t a reason _not_ to try to learn the same tactics. It would also be a bit less suspicious if there was a handy excuse for why there were a couple dead bandits at Merlin’s feet after a battle, even if they didn’t fall to his blade. As things were now, no one would believe he’d taken down a man in an attack and it was only Arthur’s arrogant way of taking all the credit for anything that happened near him that had saved Merlin from awkward conversations about how so many of their attackers twisted their ankles or fell prey to low hanging branches. He couldn’t rely on all the knights being that self-centered.

Merlin tried to mimic the drills he watched the knights and squires perform. He stumbled a bit, and he knew he wasn’t doing it right at all. He tried again, remembering clearly how they moved from months of watching them while he worked on something at the edge of the field, but unable to make his body do the same things. He tried it again, with the rational that if Arthur made things harder for his men by forcing them to move faster, Merlin could make it easier by slowing down. He stumbled again and almost twisted his ankle. Angry, he tried again with his magic flaring - slowing time instead of just his own body. That was a little better. He kept on, moving sluggishly from his own perspective: the air resisted him like he was swimming in water, and when his feet landed in the wrong place he had time to notice and correct his balance before he stumbled with a little shuffle. He still felt awkward and it still wasn’t quite what he wanted his arms and legs to be doing, but it was an improvement.

With time slowed, the afternoon stretched on for an age. Merlin kept at his practice, digging up memories of advice his father gave him or else trying to remember if he’d ever been close enough to hear the instructions given to the squires as they trained. It felt he’d been at it all afternoon, though according to the sun only a little more than an hour, before Merlin stepped back to catch his breath and let time resume it’s normal speed.

“That wasn’t bad,” someone said behind him. Merlin spun around to see who it was and promptly fell over into a heap.

“Sir Leon, what are you, uh, what can I do for you?” Merlin asked.

“It’s alright, Merlin, I won’t tell anyone,” the knight assured him, walking over and offering Merlin help up. “When we talked before you said you told Arthur everything, so I assume he knows what you are.”

“I… what I am? I’m not sure what you mean.” Merlin took the knights hand to stand up and plastered the blankest, most ignorant wide-eyed look he could manage onto his face. The knight released his hand easily enough, and hadn’t gone for his sword, so that was good.

“You are very careful, but I’ve seen this sort of situation before. People cornered by politics, forced to operate in the shadows even when their motives are noble,” Sire Leon said in a calm, soothing tone.

“I’m not like that. I’m just,” Merlin struggled to come up with anything intelligent to say, unsure of what Leon was hinting at.

“Terrified of knights,” Sir Leon finished the sentence. “I understand. You grew up in a place where the only man with a sword who wouldn’t kill you or steal everything you owned without remorse was your own father.”

“Yes, that is… He taught some of the others to fight, but swords are expensive. It was all axes, farm equipment, and wooden spears for the other men,” Merlin admitted. “He kept us safe.”

“You are a lot less clumsy when you don’t know you are being watched.”

“No, I mean, it’s more about not getting distracted. I am clumsy, so it takes a lot of focus to do anything without tripping over myself.”

“What is more distracting than something you’ve been taught your whole life to fear? A grown man in full armor comes up to you, you wilt and do your best to stay quiet or appease them quickly and get away. Yet you have pride in your skills, and I’ve seen you talk up a storm - even get commanding when the mood strikes while you are working hard and focused,” Leon pointed out. “Now I’ve also seen you use a weapon when you thought you were alone, and you aren’t bad for someone who’s never had the luxury of regular instruction.”

“Thank you, Sir Leon.” Merlin couldn’t think of anything else to say to that.

“I know what you are, but I won’t tell anyone,” Leon repeated. “Your mother appeared in Gaius’ family tree in a bit of a scandal, and the record of her marriage and your birth is a little out of the ordinary as well. All of that written in her own hand, as well. Not that anyone is gossiping in ways that insult her honor: She has Gaius’ trade as well as the responsibility of a record keeper, and that requires a certain caliber of person. Then there is your father, a man with a Lord’s skills and a Lord’s equipment passed down to you. I’m sure your family has their reasons, and I’ve seen for myself that you have a good heart, but you are not a commoner. Not with a fine gambeson like that sewn into your jacket and an advanced education filling your head. Certainly not with the conversations we had on the road about taking responsibility for the things you ask others to do on your behalf, the complex morality of how a king or Lord uses the resources he taxes from his people, and the other noble lessons that no simple farmer would ever need to learn.” A cold lump settled in Merlin’s gut as all the damning evidence was laid out for him.

“I’m just… sticking my nose in places it doesn’t belong,” Merlin tried to explain. “I’m curious about everything, you know. I have to know the whys and hows of things even if they don’t concern me. It gets me into a bit of trouble, but it’s just how I am.”

“All children ask ‘why’ and ‘how’ incessantly until their caregivers run out of patience or they get distracted by some other thing. You had someone willing to teach you those whys and hows, someone who knew them well enough to get them right when you asked and who kept on you to learn them properly well enough to make complicated arguments about laws and ways.”

“Gaius is on King Uther’s Council.” Merlin’s heart was threatening to run away without him given how fast it was beating. First King Bayard and now Sir Leon figured him out. At this rate he wouldn’t make it very long before he was completely exposed. “If he didn’t understand those sorts of things he couldn’t be. A lot of those things are just common sense, too, if you take time to think about them.”

“Are you really that afraid of me, still?” Sir Leon asked. The knight hadn’t done anything threatening: his arms were relaxed at his side, his stance lax, and he was leaning a bit away from Merlin so he didn’t crowd him. Merlin realized he still had the crude wooden sword in his hand, held across his body as if it could possibly protect him from anything Sir Leon wanted to do. He dropped it.

“I don’t have any reason to fear the knights of Camelot,” Merlin lied.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid, or that you don’t have good reason for the fear you do feel.”

“I suppose not.”

“What if I gave you some training? It might help you get over it. Prince Arthur doesn’t train you to withstand combat so much as he trains himself near you and I’d wager the only things you really learn when you are with us on the field are how to dodge, block, and take cover. That won’t really help you conquer an instinct to run from any man who swings a weapon at you.”

“I _am_ getting better at blocking,” Merlin forced a chuckle into that, then went back to being vaguely apologetic. “I have the afternoon free today, but I don’t usually have much time to myself.”

“Then we’ll start now and work out when and where we meet again later on. They can’t keep you busy every second of the day and night.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t tempt fate by saying that. There’s a stack of practice maths waiting for me that’ll take me ages to work through. I’m not slacking off, Gaius said it was fine if I took a break today, but between him and the Prince they very easily could have me going all the time.” Merlin picked the toy sword up again and the Knight reached out to adjust his shoulders a little.

“You’ve got the right idea for your arms most of the time, but your footwork and posture are a shuffling mess. Much of the strength of a blow comes from having a solid footing.” Sir Leon worked Merlin through some basic postures and steps until the sun touched the horizon, correcting him when he wobbled out of place and taking short breaks to cool off using the stream while he suggested ways Merlin could improve his bad habit of slouching in on himself all the time. Leon confessed he’d only noticed Merlin training because he’d been wasting time on a quiet stroll after mass and thought he’d spotted a fight through the trees. Merlin thanked him profusely when it came time to part ways, and Leon assured Merlin once again that he needn’t worry about anyone exposing him as a noble in hiding. There was no proof beyond circumstance, Leon assured him that he wouldn’t have put it together if he hadn’t been involved in a bit of similar drama when he was a young boy, and if Merlin kept up refusing to admit anything it wouldn’t be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put Leon at 5 years old when Arthur is born, 10 years old when Merlin is born. He remembers the purge about as well as today's 22-year-olds remember 9/11 and the start of the Iraq war.
> 
> And holy left socks did doing that bit of math make me feel old. I remember watching the news in history class that morning _way_ too clearly.


	16. The Fall Procession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misunderstanding caused by Arthur's worry over Merlin's magic makes a bit of a stir. Or maybe this is just very meta and the author needs to ensure the people reading it understand what part of the fandom this is aimed at.

Merlin knew it was going to rain during the procession; he could smell it coming. He always knew when it would rain or snow, and was never caught wearing something too cool or warm for the day’s weather when it was sunny, either. It was one thing about having magic like his that was always useful and completely safe to keep on doing in Camelot. Not that he had any clue how to stop doing it, and aside from one time that Gaius chuckled that Merlin’s nose was more accurate than Old Man Henry’s knee no one had even commented on it. Arthur didn’t even think about how the clothes Merlin laid out for him always fit the weather, and Merlin could only assume that it was something a manservant was expected to do that was easily explained by the morning’s kitchen gossip. It was unusual that he was so sure so far in advance, but he wasn’t going to complain about predicting the weather almost two full weeks ahead of time. It ensured he had time to prepare, and he had rubbed wax on the front of the his tunic until it was stiff. He planned to wear it under the red pleated tunic the Steward proved him with as livery for the march so he would have a bit more protection from the deluge when his jacket gapped open.

The steady rain slowed the large group of men and made the march into a terrible slog. The time they’d expected to use hunting for fresh meat along the way was lost to the slower pace of horses burdened by soggy gear on wet roads, the extra time and trouble of setting up the waxed canvas tents while fighting gusts of wind, and the cumulative drag on morale that seemed to infect the entire group. The lack of fresh meat meant they were on simple rations, which lowered morale further. Merlin was glad it was as warm as could be expected for early October, but even with the refreshing pleasure of uncountable happily watered plants feeding into him through his magic the inescapable wet chill and mediocre food was getting to him. Not being able to use his magic at all itched, and Prince Prat’s understanding of the fear-enforced abstinence and clear belief that it was good for Merlin was grating. Even though Merlin let his magic leak as freely from his skin as he dared when he laid down to sleep, it was still building up rapidly. It meant his bedroll dried faster and stayed warmer than it should, but Arthur always fell asleep first and didn’t notice.

The march was expected to take slightly less than four weeks. The first place they stopped at was the manor house of one of the lords, and only the knights were let into the warm, dry building while Merlin and the rest of the procession set up camp on the lawn. This manor was small and full, not much more than a watchtower with a sizable home built into the bottom half, so Prince Arthur stayed in his tent just like all the rest of them that night. From the sound of things, the Prince’s cot and tent was actually more comfortable than the tiny guest room they offered. Sir Ector had taken the room so they could avoid seeming ungracious, his age giving him seniority an excellent excuse. Merlin wished the Prince had sucked it up and accepted the hospitality - laying his bedroll out on the floor of a tiny room would have been infinitely better than laying it on the soggy ground of the Prince’s tent. Better still, he might have been able to use the Prince’s cot and had others share the big tent instead of setting up their own, both reducing the amount of packing needed in the morning and making the tent cozy with their combined body heat during the night’s chill. Nobles needed an obscene amount of personal space.

After a week of marching for miles upon miles every day and not a single moment of relief from the storms, Arthur had announced they’d stay all the next day where they were on the shore of a small lake. While proper hunting wasn’t practical given their situation, a few of the knights had successfully argued that fresh meat from a fishing net would complement their remaining provisions and the rest would speed the horses when they set out again. Thanks to that, once the tents were set up Merlin spent the evening and next morning gathering and preparing firewood alongside the squires while the knights took turns checking the nets and relaxing in the camp. Merlin surprised the other boys by peeling the soaked bark off some of the wood he gathered with his whittling knife. It made a mess in the tent they had set up to serve as a workroom, but some of the more seasoned men confirmed that it was the best way to ensure it dried enough to start a good fire by evening. Merlin’s sharp knife peeled thin curls of wood off of a branch easily, and he whittled a small basket full of them in the hopes they’d make good kindling. The rather lewd shape he made of the thick branch lightened the mood for a moment, but when the laughter prompted one of the grumpier knights to see if anyone was lazing about, he quickly cut the incriminating bosom off the half-carved stick. The others assured the knight that they were all working hard and looking forward to the cooking fire while Merlin finished destroying the evidence. The older squires hauled some larger logs in to split, and it was only Arthur shouting for Merlin that saved the already tired warlock from having to do that all afternoon too.

Over another lunch of cold cheese and flattened bread Arthur scolded Merlin for spending so much time with the squires and neglecting to take care of the chores in Arthur’s large tent. Most everything was still packed in slightly soggy travel bags, something Merlin thought was fine since they’d be moving on tomorrow, but the Prince had expected everything unpacked and set out properly. Arthur then went back to fishing, the wine skin in his hand telling Merlin what the senior knights were doing while they watched the nets. As Merlin laid out the Prince’s many unnecessary belongings he lost his patience with the tangled, slippery lacing of one bag and dried everything in the tent with a burst of uncontrolled magic that sent more than half of the clutter at Merlin’s feet to their proper places. That his magic hadn’t managed to accidentally dry _himself_ only made him more frustrated. He put away the rest of the supplies as quickly as he could without dripping on them, using a bit of magic to speed things along that wasn’t quite enough to release the pent-up tension in his body, and headed purposefully toward the tree-line in the general direction of the ditch they’d dug as a latrine. The clearing they’d camped in was full of squires, knights, and a squad of conscript soldiers coming and going with their heads bowed against the constant rain, but if anyone noticed him they wouldn’t watch long enough to see him turn away from the latrine and up a small incline towards where the trees were the thickest.

Merlin’s magic knew where he was going even if his mind was only concerned with how uncomfortable he was and how much he needed a proper break. A cozy thicket surrounded by brier welcomed him, the thorny branches lifting a bit so he could shimmy under them and lay on the thick patch of moss covering a flat rock in the middle. It wasn’t quite big enough for him to stretch out the way he preferred to, and the thick moss was twice as soaked as it was soft, but Merlin took a deep breath and loosed his magic as he tucked his knees to his chest and laid on his side. An invisible dome shielded his curled form from the rain, the excess water quickly fled the moss, and his soaked clothes dried in a swirl of warm air. He let his magic sink down into the earth and plants around him, tracing and entwining with the fresh feeling the rain gave the forest. The brier thickened. Its leaves were already more than enough to shield him from view, but now the branches were strong enough to impede any intrusion as well. He basked in the glow of his magic twining with the forest’s natural energy.

It had been a while since the last rain, so at least the plants were all quite happy with the weather. As Merlin drifted half-awake, the forest shared its limited awareness with him. Here the land had been struck by lightning recently, there it crested in a hill where a pack of wolves was hunting, and down in a shallow valley there was a pond teeming with fish. He let himself have the relief, ignoring the blush that rose up when he remembered the last time he’d let his magic blaze out of control before indulging in a bit of that as well. It wasn’t like he would have much chance at privacy over the next few weeks, he might as well make the most of it.

When the thick streams of magic pouring out of him subsided into his usual light haze, Merlin returned to the camp feeling properly refreshed and a little sleepy. The boys informed him that the shaved wood had caught the sparks well and gotten the fire off to a strong start. The cooking fire was just reaching a good size at the mouth of a one-sided tent that shielded it from much of the rain. Some of the boys he’d been working with earlier in the day were seated nearby cleaning the fish. He scooped up a fish from the basket and joined the line, eager enough for some hot food after a week of marching rations that he didn’t mind sitting in the rain while he worked. The more people gutting fish, the faster they could start cooking.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice cut through the squire’s quiet chatter. “Have you been hiding here this whole time?”

“No, sire. I took care of the things in your tent as you asked,” Merlin answered.

“And after that?” The prince crossed his arms. He must have been looking for him. Crap.

“I went to the latrine.” Merlin said, wide-eyed and innocent. “Were you looking for me?”

“Sir Bedivere sliced himself with a knife,” the prince said.

“Oh! I have my medical bag in…”

“It’s been tended.”

“Oh. Sorry, sire.”

“Get up,” Arthur ordered. Merlin passed his half-cleaned fish to the boy to his right, catching the sympathetic looks the others were giving him.

The dressing-down Arthur gave him was mostly about how he was always to be available to the Prince and hadn’t been brought along to spend all day entertaining the squires. Merlin said as little as possible about the hour he’d been missing and slowly realized that ‘hanging around the latrine’ was some sort of odd euphemism that Merlin didn’t understand. Arthur didn’t outright accuse Merlin of anything specific, but the allusions to Merlin’s lack of self-control made it clear that Arthur actually thought it was the magic at fault. Merlin, unwilling to either admit that he’d been missing because he’d been unable to contain his magic or to repeat his explanation about why he couldn’t, shouted back that the Prince was overreacting and if he’d been really looking for Merlin then he’d have been told so as soon as he got back to the fire pit. Merlin didn’t get any fish that evening, just the toast that it would have been served on. He was also kicked out of the spot on the ground in Arthur’s tent where he’d been sleeping, which Merlin saw as being counter-productive if Arthur was worried about Merlin going off to play with his magic.

Merlin had half-situated himself under an oak tree with a particularly thick canopy when three of the squires came to collect him. Sir Bedivere’s squire, Alastor, positioned Merlin in a warm spot in the crowded squire’s tent and asked him several times if he was in pain anywhere. It took entirely too long to convince the tent full of new friends that Arthur hadn’t struck him. In the wee hours, Merlin was pulled out of bed and given a bowl of porridge with a bit extra fish in it when the night watch switched shifts. Waking up in the middle of the night was worth the hot food, though he’d probably be less thankful when dawn came.

“You realize you can quit over this, and it wouldn’t have any significant repercussions for you,” Sir Kay said, shifting uncomfortably. “That is, if you aren’t willing.”

“Willing?” Merlin asked between bites of delicious, wonderfully hot food. “Willing to do what?” The circle of men eating their ‘lunch’ around the fire looked at each other before the squire sitting on Merlin’s other side - and older boy nearly ready to graduate to knighthood - pat Merlin on the shoulder.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” the squire - Peter? - asked. “You’re a freedman. If you were just a regular servant, you’d have to take it, no matter what was asked of you, but you don’t have to warm any beds you don’t want to. Not even for the Prince.”

“Warm… beds? I… I am not….” Merlin’s voice failed him before he could complete the thought.

“Lad, we all heard the Prince shouting about you prostituting yourself,” Sir Kay said, his face scrunched up a bit, “and the bit about how you’re supposed to attend to _him_ first and foremost.” Merlin dropped his spoon back into his bowl, running through the argument in his head and trying to decide what it sounded like out of context.

“Sir Bedivere wasn’t hurt badly enough to need help with the wound,” Alastor added. The older boy was seated on Merlin’s other side, sipping a cup of warm rainwater and a bit of wild spice Merlin taught him to make to drink on midnight watches. He’d read about it in one of Gaius’ books while looking for ways to make the march through the rain more tolerable and spread it through the camp as quickly as possible. “I fetched some bandages and the job was half-done before the Prince even noticed you weren’t in his tent. He can’t have been that angry because you weren’t the one to tend an unimportant scratch.”

“He’s not fucking me,” Merlin mumbled, feeling a bit like he’d been shifted a few inches outside his body. Maybe he was dreaming?

“You don’t have to be ashamed. It happens, on long marches,” Peter said gently. Merlin was fairly sure his name started with a P, anyway. “As long as you like it, it’s fine.”

“Though, he staked his claim rather firmly with his shouting, Lad,” Sir Kay added. “He can order you not to, ah, get too close to a specific person. It is his right. You are exposed to some state secrets while doing your job and if he doesn’t trust the other person not to try and pry them out of you he can force you apart, but he can’t force you to service him and he can’t enforce a blanket order of chastity like he did earlier without…” The knight trailed off with a flustered wave of his spoon.

“He’d have to name you his Favorite,” one of the other knights provided.

“King Uther wouldn’t take kindly to his only son taking a boy as his body servant,” another, rather heavily scarred, man grumbled. “The Prince can’t make it official, so it’s shout enough to scare off the competition or nothing. That’s why the boy needs to have this spelled out, see? Needs to know Prince Arthur isn’t actually ordering him to do anything - can’t order him to be his exclusive fuck-boy - it’s just a strongly worded request.” Merlin could only stare blankly into the fire, turning bits of what he and Arthur had shouted at each other over in his head.

“Lacking all self-control, like an animal that can’t help itself,” Merlin mumbled into the flames. “Just because I’m not some buttoned-up prude and don’t mind getting a hand from another man doesn’t mean I’m some animal in heat.” Merlin snapped his head up to look the other men in the eye by turns. “All I’d said to him about this sort of thing is that girls in the city are a lot harder to get anywhere with unless you’re planning to marry them, and a tumble with another boy is arguably less difficult to arrange. Out in the villages a girl’s still pure even if she’s seen a man naked, so long as she hasn’t done anything that might get her pregnant. But, that was weeks ago and there really isn’t anything like that going on for me right now. I’m _just_ Arthur’s manservant, really!”

“So, you hanging out at the latrine?”

“I had to shit!” Merlin squeaked. The other men seemed satisfied that his obliviousness about the slang was genuine, a few of them shaking their heads or laughing.

“That carving you made yesterday was pretty lifelike,” Alastor said when the chuckles died down, nudging Merlin with his elbow. “That based on some specific pair of knockers?”

“Well, partially,” Merlin said, glad to change the subject. “The legs belonged to a different girl, though. I haven’t had the good fortune to catch a girl with both halves that look that good at the same time.”

“Oh, yeah? Good stories go with those lovely halves?” Peter encouraged.

“Well, a couple of the girls back in Ealdor liked to go swimming in summer…” Merlin probably spent longer than he should have talking about girls when he ought to be sleeping. The men quite enjoyed chuckling at his fumbling, and some of them offered up a few pointers and stories of their own. The story of how Mary thought he was in a relationship with Will took the edge off any guilt they felt for thinking Merlin was serving Arthur in unconventional ways. After that, some of the older men had gone to bed, but it looked like all the unmarried ones had stayed to talk loose and swap ideas. When Merlin got around to mentioning the method by which he’d proven to Mary that he enjoyed female company it got Alastor’s full attention.

“Wait, so, you pulled down her knickers and kissed her _there?_ ” the older boy asked, eagerly. “And you liked that?”

“You’ve got to do a bit more than just kiss it,” Merlin advised. “The taste was interesting, and it was a bit exciting just being under her skirt like that, but after I got the hang of it the sounds she made were amazing. She was more than happy to return the favor in kind after she’d had enough.”

“Maybe Leah would let me do that,” Alastor said to himself.

“Don’t have to worry about her virtue so much, so maybe, but I’m not sure she’d finish you off if she’s as buttoned-up as you say she is,” Merlin shrugged.

“How’d you come up with that?” Peter asked. “I mean, I’ve heard about having your cock sucked, but on a woman?”

“Er… I was sort of a surprise baby, so my father made sure I knew how to _not_ end up with a surprise of my own.” Merlin sipped the watered ale that had been passed around.

“Oh, I heard about that,” Sir Kay chimed in. “Must have been a nasty shock, to come home after going abroad on a trade route to a boy who didn’t know him. Shows good character that he stepped up properly instead of running for the hills.”

“They were properly hand-fasted before he left, he just wasn’t expecting me. I hope to be as good a man as him,” Merlin said wistfully.

“I wish my old man taught me anything that practical,” Alastor laughed. “It’s all Greek philosophers and Roman Emperors that he cares about.”

“Mum was furious with how thorough he was with that particular set of lessons,” Merlin admitted, “and I was a bit too young to enjoy them at the time, really.”

“Well, you get to enjoy them now,” Alastor pointed out.

“We should get to bed. Dawn’ll be here before we know it and I’d bet a month’s pay Prince Arthur’ll be driving us like rented horses,” Sir Kay said sleepily, giving a sad look to his empty cup. Merlin gulped down the last of his ale. Peter and Alastor crept back into the squire’s tent with him, careful not to wake the others as they settled down.

“Hey, Merlin,” Peter whispered in Merlin’s ear. They were laid out like swords in a rack, with the bare minimum of polite distance between the bedrolls.

“Yeah?” Merlin shifted so he could see the man over his shoulder.

“Just in case the Prince did mean it the way it sounded, you can always come to us. Even if you just want somewhere less private to sleep for a night.”

“Thanks, Peter. I really don’t think I’ll need it for that, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

.oO0*^^*0Oo.

Merlin had thought he and Arthur were friends, or at least mostly friends. That seems to have been a hasty assessment. Recently, the Prince had been distant toward Merlin. Now, he was suddenly acting almost disturbingly possessive. Peter’s words kept coming back to Merlin as he sleepily went through the by now routine motions of packing up the camp and marching down the road with the procession. Merlin walked alongside the horse he usually rode, the additional packs she carried today too heavy with rainwater for her to carry him as well. A couple of the knights expressed worry over Merlin’s health and urged him to mount up, but he insisted the poor horse would fair worse than him if he tried. It was a subtle sort of aggression against Merlin, and he wasn’t sure who put those extra packs on his mare, but at least he understood what sort of gossip caused it. Hopefully, talk would circulate from the late-night chat he’d had and whoever took offense at the idea of Merlin being the camp’s whore would sort themselves out.

It would stop raining sometime tomorrow. He’d expected that it would for days and after the deep meditation he’d done yesterday he was all the surer of it. He mentioned that the storm was waning to Alastor when the lunch ration was passed through the line of marching men. Arthur stiffened up when Alastor cheered Merlin’s optimism and deliberately dismissed the squire as soon as he’d received his ration. The Prince then sat stiffly on his horse for the next couple miles. That evening Merlin set up Arthur’s tent and served the Prince’s dinner with quiet efficiency, practicing the limits of his control by trying to use the subtle haze of magic that trailed after him to dry things without the additional push of casting a proper spell. It wasn’t noticeably effective, but it kept his mind focused and he did manage to lay out the tent without as much of his usual clumsiness.

“Is that all, sire?” Merlin asked when he’d finished making up the cot. Between the lack of sleep last night and having to walk all day he was ready to swallow whatever he was given when he collected his ration and flop down in the squire’s tent as soon as possible. No chats, no volunteering to help anyone finish up their evening work, just straight to bed.

“Where is your bedroll?” Arthur asked as he looked up from his meal. They were back to road rations, but the border fort they were coming up on would be large enough that even if the weather didn’t break tomorrow they would be eating better.

“I thought I was kicked out,” Merlin responded sleepily. “It’s in the squire’s tent.

“You were not to put someone else out.”

“I didn’t, they invited me, and we all packed in cozy as anything. Not like my skinny bones take up much space.”

“Go get your bedroll.”

“No,” Merlin said. He didn’t even know why he was arguing. Doing as he was told would mean getting to sleep faster, but he really didn’t want to sleep in a big drafty tent with an angry Prince. The insufferable prat would probably keep him awake with random requests just to bother him, anyway.

“What did you just say?” Arthur seethed.

“They think we’re fucking,” Merlin explained. “I’d rather they didn’t.”

“How did they get that impression?” Arthur asked dangerously, stalking over to where Merlin was standing.

“Might have had to do with you shouting at me yesterday, and how it sounded to the eavesdroppers like you were angry about me sleeping around instead of being always available for your use. I had half of the camp explaining to me that as a freedman I have a right to quit if you’re abusing your privilege that way.”

“What?!?” Arthur shouted.

“I was also up half the night explaining that you aren’t,” Merlin said, keeping his voice deliberately low now that he knew how nosy some of the other men were. “You’re welcome. Now, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to get my own dinner and go to bed somewhere that multiple witnesses can attest that I’m not prostituting myself out by the latrine.”

“Stop acting like an idiot and maybe I wouldn’t have to shout at you.”

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Merlin insisted, the adrenaline from the confrontation waking him up enough to assemble a proper argument. “Sir Bedivere just had a scratch, he’s fine. Alastor took care of it and then thought so little of it that he didn’t mention it when he saw me gutting fish.”

“You are my servant, I’m the one that decides if you’ve done anything wrong.” Merlin took a breath to make sure he didn’t raise his voice, which also helped him choose his words carefully.

“Then what should I have done, waited for you in this tent until I shat myself? Am I expected to hold it in until I make myself sick unless I have your explicit permission? I’m not the one acting strangely; it isn’t anything I did that made the rest of the camp think you consider me your personal toy.”

“As Prince of Camelot I have every right…”

“You have no right to that part of my body,” Merlin snapped. The prince sputtered and took a large step back.

“D… don’t flatter yourself.”

“If you don’t want the whole camp thinking that we’re sleeping together, or me thinking that you want us to be sleeping together, then maybe try not treating me like a cheating spouse,” Merlin quipped, then squared his shoulders and very clearly enunciated his words with as much command in his voice as he dared: “Tell me what I did to piss you off.”

“You disappeared.”

“Yes, I wasn’t where you expected me to be yesterday. Yes, it’s been raining non-stop and everyone is a little grumpy. Yes, I went to the latrine. No, I wasn’t meeting anyone when I went. Yes, there is a lot of work to do around the camp and other people ask me to help with other tasks when I have finished the ones you give me. No, it is not unreasonable for me to take on those tasks. Nothing I can see explains why you’ve been acting like a clotpole recently.”

“Just go,” Arthur huffed, flinging out a dismissive gesture. “Since you so clearly want to hang out with the squires all night.” Merlin blinked.

“By Cernunnos’ left nut,” Merlin swore, “you are actually pissed off that I have other friends.”

“Merlin.”

“Seriously?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Arthur, unless by some wild chance you actually do want an exclusive physical relationship from me, you have just crowned yourself the single most selfish prat in the whole of Albion,” Merlin declared, turning to leave the stunned prince to collect his jaw off the floor. Just before he exited, he turned back to explain further. “Actually, no, even in that case - and to be very clear you’ve made the idea rather repulsive - you’re still a horribly selfish prat, because even lovers let each other talk to other people.”


End file.
